


The Gryphon in the Airport

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [30]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Car Accidents, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-06-30 14:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15754020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: With a shiny new driver’s license in hand, Lance Calvin asks to borrow his uncle’s car for a quick cruise around the city.  Less than an hour later, Greg’s car is found at the scene of an accident, engulfed in flames.  And a newly caged gryphon fights to fly free…and come home.





	1. Getting His Wings

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the thirtieth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "East of the Sun".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

Flames roared high, eating hungrily into the two vehicles in the middle of a normally quiet neighborhood.  Sirens wailed as the fire trucks and firefighters arrived; shouts preceded the first jets of water onto the fire, which hissed in indignation and outrage to be so assaulted.

Nearby, the residents of the block grouped around a middle-aged woman, groaning and hardly conscious, but alive.  One resident eagerly informed the paramedic that the woman had been driving the larger car…a once immaculate white Dodge Durango.  When the paramedic asked after the other driver, the residents grew telling silent, each nervously glancing at each other.

The paramedic signaled her partner, who raced to tell the firefighters, “The other driver’s still in the car!”

The lead firefighter glanced over at the paramedic, then back at the blazing, formerly slate-blue Chevy Impala.  “Then they’re dead!” he yelled back at the paramedic.  “No way someone could survive in _that!_ ”

Slowly, sullenly, the flames died down, drowned by the expertly applied water and the persistent firefighters.  With the metal of the two wrecked cars still too hot to touch, the firefighters anxiously read off the two miraculously intact license plates to their dispatcher.

The dispatcher pulled in a shocked breath at the results from the Impala.  “Read that license plate off again, please?” he requested.

On-scene, the lead firefighter just about barked out the plate number.  “Kilo, Three, Bravo, November, One, Eight, Two.”  He paused.  “You get it this time?”

“Yeah, I got it, but you aren’t gonna like it…car belongs to a member of the Strategic Response Unit.”  Both men were silent a moment.  “I’ve got a phone number, if you want it,” the dispatcher offered.

The lead firefighter eyed the smoldering wreck as the phone in his hand rang and rang.  He shook his head.  No way it would be…

“Sergeant Parker speaking.”

The firefighter froze in shock.  “Sergeant Parker, my name is Simon Griggs; I’m with the Fire Department.”  He eyed the car again.  “Do you know who’s driving your car, Sergeant?”

Confusion, mixed with wary alarm.  “My nephew, why?”

Simon Griggs let his head drop.  “You’d better get down here as soon as you can, sir.  There’s been an accident.”

“My nephew, is he okay?” Sergeant Parker demanded sharply.

The firefighter continued to stare at the remains of the car.  “Please get here as soon as you can, sir.”  He gave the Sergeant the address, then hung up.

Several feet away, the two cars both let out loud screeches as their roofs, weakened by the fire, gave way with a loud crash.

* * * * *

_3 hours earlier_

The young man anxiously standing in line at one of Toronto’s DMV locations was just like many other teenagers on their sixteenth birthdays – hopeful that they could finally get their driver’s license and earn their first _real_ bit of independence.  Of course, _this_ teenager already had a fair amount of independence, but still, he was about to get his driver’s license and _no one_ was allowed to rain on his parade with inconvenient truths.

* * * * *

_“I see you got the Driver Manual,” Greg observed solemnly, though his eyes twinkled at the excitement in his nephew’s eyes.  “Read it yet?”_

_The look he got in return was so very_ teenagish _that he resisted the urge to laugh; sometimes, he could almost be forgiven for forgetting that the two teens_ hadn’t _spent their entire lives in the tech world…they could act_ just _like any other teenager when they wanted to.  Like right now, as his nephew practically danced around the kitchen in glee over the idea of_ finally _learning how to drive._

_Lance thumped down in his usual chair after a few seconds, his eyes going wide and pleading.  “Are you going to teach me, Uncle Greg?”_

_Now his uncle did laugh.  “As if I’d pass up the chance, kiddo,” Greg chided, tapping him lightly on the back of the head.  “But first you have to pass the written and get your learner’s permit, so start studying.”_

* * * * *

“Easy there, kiddo,” Uncle Greg murmured, reining his eager nephew in.  “Line’s not going to move any faster than it is right now, so just take a deep breath and be patient.”

Lance tossed his uncle an incredulous look.  “Were _you_ patient when you were my age?”

The other considered this, then quirked a grin.  “No, I wasn’t,” he admitted.  “But still, it’s not going to go any faster, so try to stop fidgeting.”

* * * * *

_The Toronto School of Magic did not offer a driver’s course and Apparition licenses couldn’t be obtained in Canada until an applicant reached seventeen, so Uncle Greg tracked down a reputable driving school and enrolled his all-too-eager nephew in their driving course._

_The day after Lance got his learner’s permit, his uncle took him out for his first driving lesson…in the local cemetery.  The young man looked around in confusion as they pulled in.  “Uncle Greg?”_

_His uncle chuckled and got out, waving for his nephew to trade places with him.  As they both got back in, Uncle Greg explained, “No one to hit in here and there’s plenty of room and lots of road here for you to practice on.”_

_Lance blinked, but nodded, understanding.  He looked down at the floorboard, a trifle surprised to actually see the pedals that made the car stop and go beneath him.  “So, um…how do I do this?”_

_With another chuckle, Uncle Greg started explaining, starting with the three most basic parts of the car: the gas, the brake, and the steering wheel.  When he was done, Lance put one foot on the brake and took the car out of park, setting it to drive, and let the car inch forward; he tried to correct too much for the turn in front of them and Uncle Greg had to grab the steering wheel before they went over the curb and into the grass.  “Easy there, sport,” he chided lightly._

_Lance cringed, rethinking the entire project, but his uncle wasn’t about to let him._

_“Okay, try again,” Uncle Greg ordered._

_“But…”_

_“It’s your first lesson, you’re going to get things wrong,_ mio nipote _.  Just don’t let that scare you off.  Now try again, kiddo.”_

* * * * *

They reached the head of the first line and Lance hesitantly offered his documentation to the woman behind the counter.  The woman took the documents, inspecting them closely before nodding and handing him the first part of his test.  “Fill this out and turn it in.  Once you’ve got the paperwork done, we’ll set you up with the driving portion of the test.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lance replied, taking the clipboard and pen and heading to a hard plastic chair to get started.

Behind him, Greg snuck his phone out and took a quick picture, sending it to his team with the caption: Starting the paperwork.

He chuckled at the response he got back from Eddie: Be afraid, be very afraid.

* * * * *

_“Okay, what did you do wrong?” Uncle Greg asked calmly once the car had come to a stop and Lance’s hands were off the wheel.  He didn’t look the least bit unnerved by the way the car had bounced up onto a curb and then off as Lance struggled to turn and stop the vehicle without hitting anything._

_Lance cringed and tried to look small…a difficult proposition since he was now taller than his uncle and bidding fair to get even taller.  “I, um, I hit the gas and the brake at the same time?” he offered in a small voice._

_A nod.  “I’d agree with that.  So, how are we going to prevent that in the future?”_

_The teen ducked his head.  “Use just my right foot?” he replied.  “Instead of trying to use both?”_

_His uncle smiled at him and deliberately reached over to ruffle his hair.  As the teen yelped and ducked away, he laughed a little.  “Stop cringing, kiddo; I’m not mad at you.  That’s why we started_ here _, instead of out on the streets.  And the car can take a little rough handling; you’re_ going _to make mistakes and that’s all right, Lance.”  An amused grin.  “And now you can answer that age old question.”  At Lance’s quizzical look, Uncle Greg smirked.  “The brake is_ definitely _more effective than the gas.”_

* * * * *

Lance turned the clipboard back in, rubbing his hands against his jeans as soon as it was passed over.  His uncle joined him with a soft, “Well?”

Sapphire flicked upwards.  “I think I did it right, but there were a couple questions on there I wasn’t expecting.”

Uncle Greg smiled and rested one hand on his shoulder.  “I’m sure you did just fine, _mio nipote_.”

* * * * *

_When Uncle Wordy turned up after his first driving school lesson, Lance was puzzled…right up until Uncle Wordy shooed him into the driver’s seat of his minivan.  “You’re letting_ me _drive?” Lance asked, both delighted and in disbelief._

_Uncle Wordy’s grin flashed across his face.  “Well, I hear you’re learning,” he teased.  “Figured I’d give you a taste of how to handle a bigger car than Sarge’s got.”_

_A curious look from the teen.  “I drive a sedan at the school,” he pointed out, his question clear._

_A nod and a wave at the steering wheel.  Lance turned the key and carefully backed out of the spot; Uncle Wordy watching just as carefully as the teen.  “Good job,” he praised once they were out.  As the minivan started forward, the constable explained, “Bigger cars handle differently from smaller cars.  The seat is higher, the view is higher, and the car needs more space for lane changing, parking, things like that.  Get into a truck or a full size van and you have different handling for turning, you might not have all the mirrors you’re used to, and, again, you need more space all around.”_

_Lance focused on the road, staying as alert as he could and cringing, just a little, whenever a driver came too close.  He followed the directions he was given, unsurprised when they ended up in a large, mostly empty parking lot._

_“Okay, we’re going to practice parking with_ my _car, so you can see the differences between the minivan and what_ you’ve _been driving.”_

_“Copy that,” Lance quipped, earning a hair ruffle for his cheek; naturally he yelped in protest and ducked away as best he could._

* * * * *

The wide smile was all the evidence Greg needed that his nephew was now in line for the driving practical, he smirked as he took another photo of Lance standing at the counter, being told what would come next.  This photo was sent off with the caption: Clear the roads, teen driver on a mission.

This time, Spike managed to get the drop on Eddie, with his return message of: How many points if he hits a drug dealer?

The Sergeant smothered a snicker as his nephew’s shoulders drooped a bit…more waiting.

* * * * *

_Uncle Spike and Uncle Lou insisted on tag-teaming the teen as they taught him two things: defensive driving and tactical evasion.  Strictly speaking, only the defensive driving was_ necessary _, but both men were of the firm belief that, sooner or later, Lance, Alanna, or_ both _of them were_ going _to get themselves in trouble, so best to train them up now, rather than counting on luck._

_Their usual good-natured approach was nowhere to be seen as they ran the rookie driver through his paces and coached him on numerous little tricks he could pull behind the wheel to keep himself out of danger.  Unfortunately, they could only go so far…their Sergeant would_ kill _them if they deliberately shot out his tires…or his windows._

* * * * *

Lance drew in a deep breath and handed the car’s insurance and registration information to the driving examiner.  The man minutely inspected the documents, frowning to himself.  At last, they passed sufficient muster for the examiner to lead the nervous teen out to where his uncle’s Chevy Impala had been pulled up for the beginning of the driving practical.  At the examiner’s instructions, Lance got in the driver’s seat and, one-by-one, demonstrated that all of the car’s lights were in perfect working order.

The rather fussy examiner climbed into the passenger seat and started with a brisk, “Turn left out of the parking lot.”

Lance pulled forward, flipping the left turn signal on and stopping to check for any traffic before entering the street.  He shoved the nerves and anxious butterflies down, forcing himself to focus entirely on the road and the examiner’s next set of instructions.

* * * * *

_“So, you think you’re ready?” Uncle Greg asked, one brow going up as he regarded his nephew._

_Though normally confident, the young man’s expression was unsure and nervous.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.  “I know I still make mistakes and…yeah…”  He rubbed at the back of his neck._

_Uncle Greg’s smile was gentle and just a bit chiding.  “Let me let you in on a little secret,_ mio nipote _…you can drive for fifty years and still make mistakes.  You’re young, you’re still learning, but you’ve learned enough to pass your course and get your license, okay?”_

_“You think so?”_

_One arm went around the teen’s shoulders.  “I know so,” Uncle Greg countered._

* * * * *

When it was over and the examiner got out of the car, Lance bit his lip and slid out the other side, a mix of hope and anticipatory disappointment on his face.  But the examiner had once been young and sixteen himself, he understood the mix of emotions on the new driver’s face.  So he extended his hand, put a smile on his own face, and said, “Congratulations, young man.  You passed.”

“I passed?”

A slight rumble that might have been a chuckle.  “Yes, you passed.”  The examiner filled out the last of the paperwork.  “Now take this in and get in the next line…you’ll get your picture taken and then they’ll print out your new license.”

Inside, Greg smirked and waited for his nephew to get in the final line before snapping another picture.  This one bore the caption: Watch out world, the gryphon has landed.

Sam managed to get the first word in this time with his droll comment of: How long before you lose the rest of your hair?

Oh, he wanted to play it _that_ way, huh?  The Sergeant’s smirk grew larger as he plotted out how to rope Winnie into helping him with a prank on the smug sniper.  And speaking of ropes…

* * * * *

_“You do know your brother’s going to be getting his license on his birthday, right?” Greg asked his niece._

_Alanna rolled her eyes.  “No, I hadn’t heard that,” she teased._

_Greg bit back laughter…they both would have had to be deaf, dumb, blind, and stupid to miss the brunet teen’s glee over getting his license on his birthday.  “So,” he began, winking at her, “How are we going to celebrate?”_

_An impish grin lit her face.  “What’d you have in mind?”_

* * * * *

Greg leaned back in the passenger seat of his Impala, biting back snickers at how his nephew was managing to bounce in his seat, cast pleading looks at his uncle, and drive at the same time.  The negotiator was careful to slap his mask of impassiveness in place whenever his nephew peeked at him.  When they reached the apartment, Greg allowed a slightly dramatic sigh before saying, “Oh, go ahead, take the car out for a spin.  Just be back in an hour.”

“Yes!” Lance cheered.  “Sure thing, Uncle Greg!”

Greg got out of the car and turned around.  “Have fun.”  He waited until Lance was looking at him to add, “And good job, _mio nipote_ …  Congratulations.”  The Sergeant closed the passenger door and stepped back to watch the slate-blue car pull away.  He pulled his phone out and snapped one last picture.  After a moment, Greg added the caption and sent it off: Cleared for takeoff.

He wasn’t entirely surprised when Eddie answered from behind him.  “Hard to let them go, huh, Greg?”

Greg blinked back moisture he hadn’t even registered until that moment.  As Ed came up beside him, he replied, “He’s a good kid; he’ll be all right.”

Ed smiled at that.  “Yeah,” he agreed after a second.  “You did a good job with him.”

The light smack to the chest made the team leader grunt in surprise.  “No, Eddie,” Greg countered, “ _we_ did a good job with _them_.  Now come on, he’ll be back in an hour and we’d better have the party ready to go when he gets here.”


	2. Crash Landing

Lance couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face as he pulled out into traffic and accelerated up to the speed limit.  He had no particular destination in mind; he just wanted a chance to cruise and enjoy the thrill of vehicular freedom.

For the first couple of minutes, he picked roads at random, turning when he felt like it, and generally played around as much as he could with the thrill of accelerating up to the speed limit and navigating around the city’s roads.

It didn’t take long though, before he was debating on where to head…as much as he enjoyed the sensation of freedom, the open road, and cruising, he was, at heart, a practical guy who preferred having a destination.  With a little shrug, he opted to pull off and check out a local video store, browsing for a few minutes before he spotted a movie he hadn’t had a chance to go see in the theater, but still intrigued him enough to pick up and rent.  With the video in hand, he headed back to his uncle’s car and backed out of the spot, grinning to himself as he put the car in drive and pulled out onto the road again.

A sign caught his attention and the teen grinned as he made a left into the roads surrounding a local historical attraction and forest preserve.  Trees rose around him as he accelerated on the winding road, restraining a whoop of pure glee as he hit the speed limit and curved around the next turn.  Though careful to maintain the limit and keep his eyes open for other cars, the teen couldn’t help his carefree grin as he curled around another turn and let the car sail down a small hill; he accelerated up the other side, smirking to himself as the speed gauge stayed steady.  The weather was perfect, the road was perfect, and there wasn’t another car in sight.

A clearing and a flash of something caught his eye and he pulled off, eyebrows going up at the sight of two deer, a mother and a fawn, grazing in the clearing.  The mother lifted her head, eyeing the car with what Lance suspected was suspicion, then went back to her meal.  The fawn didn’t seem to notice…or care, as it flicked its small tail and bounced around its mother.  Lance watched until the pair finished their meal and disappeared back into the forest.  With an internal grin, the teen backed his car out of the overlook’s parking spot and headed off again, accelerating as he hit the curve right by the overlook.

A small sigh of disappointment escaped as he hit the end of the preserve and he debated pulling a U-turn and catching the curves again.  A glance at the gas gauge made him wince, just a bit…better not, he decided.  With another sigh, he turned right, heading for a gas station nearby; he pulled into the small lot and parked at the pump.  He got out, fueling the car and dreaming, idly, of the day when he could buy his own car.  A smirk crossed his face; he’d probably be the first member of his immediate family to ever own a car (for this one thing, Uncle Greg didn’t count and neither did Uncle Wordy).  When the pump clicked off, Lance set about returning the pump handle to its place, closing up the tank, and retrieving his receipt.  He moved the car to a spot right next to the station and strolled in, deciding to pick up a soda and a few things for the party his Uncle didn’t think he knew about.

Lance browsed the shelves, frowning at the lack of a selection and the clearly inflated prices.  He’d just decided to leave and try the nearest grocery store when an amused, “Looks like they cut you loose, huh?” came from behind him.

The teen spun, a grin crossing his face as he took in the speaker.  “Hi, Clark!” he greeted, letting his glee out once more.  Glee grew as he added, “Yep, got my license this morning!”

Clark Lane grinned right back at his slightly younger friend.  “I remember when I got my license,” he remarked, pretending to be an old hand at the whole driving gig.  “The wind in my hair, the freedom of the open road…good times.”

Lance snarked right back with, “Did they have windshields in ‘your day’?”

“Scamp,” Clark accused, leaning back on his heels.

“Anytime,” Lance agreed.  “So,” he started, adopting a drawling ‘cowboy’ tone and pretending to tip his hat, “What brings you to these parts, pardner?”

Clark snickered at the cowboy impression.  “Just passing through,” he drawled right back, shifting to lean against the shelf behind him.  “A little birdy told me you were going for your license today.”

Lance bit back laughter at Clark’s ‘little birdy’ reference…the older teen had _no_ idea just how _right_ he was.  “She invite you?” he asked lazily.

Clark started, then laughed a little to himself.  “I don’t know why they even bother anymore…you _always_ figure it out.”

The Wild Mage shrugged…his magic usually sussed such things out without even trying and ‘helpfully’ let him know, so surprises were almost always wasted on him.  “Hope springs eternal, I guess,” he replied.  “Anyway, I thought I’d pick up a few more things, then head back.”

“You going back now?” Clark asked in surprise.

A head shake.  “Naw…this place doesn’t have everything I want, plus I don’t want to give Uncle Greg a heart attack by showing up too soon.”

The older teen chuckled again.  “He’s not _that_ old, Lance.”

A roguish grin.  “Hey, you never know…it _could_ happen.”

Clark snickered and shook his head.  “See you there,” he called as he headed out the door of the station.

“Yeah, see ya,” Lance called back as he browsed another minute or two before leaving himself.  There was a grocery store a few blocks away with a _much_ better selection.

* * * * *

Lance frowned, inspecting his haul and double-checking that he had everything on his mental list.  At the last ‘surprise’ party, they’d run out of soda, so he was bringing another four of the large soda bottles…each a different type, even if his favorite tended to shift between Sprite and Mountain Dew.  He’d also collected three large chip bags and nabbed two cartons of nuts for the afterparty.  Even if it didn’t all get eaten, he knew it wouldn’t go to waste, so he felt absolutely no guilt at all as he went through the checkout line and paid for the items.

Outside, he hefted everything into the trunk, careful to stand where no one could spy the empty gun safe inside the trunk.  With everything loaded, he closed the trunk lid and took the cart to the nearest cart corral.  As the teen pulled out of the parking lot, he glanced at the clock and decided he’d better start heading back home.  After all, it wouldn’t do to be late to his own party!

* * * * *

Less than ten minutes later, Lance ground his teeth and wondered how he’d gotten himself turned around like this.  He’d made _one_ wrong turn for crying out loud!  _One!_   And now he’d gotten himself into the middle of a residential area on a one-way road.  The teen sighed as he scanned the street signs and tried to find a place where he could get out of the residential area and back to the main roads.

He passed another three-way intersection and looked ahead to the next intersection, hoping to see a four-way intersection, which would, if he was lucky, lead to the main road he’d turned off of.  As he reached the intersection, his shoulders slumped at the dead end sign on the right-hand road.  The teen shook his head to himself and went straight.  He stubbornly didn’t pull over and pull out his phone…he could handle this _himself_ , thank you _very_ much.

After another two blocks with dead ends, he was just about to admit defeat and finally pull over, when his sensitive hearing caught the sound of tires screeching.  His head came up and his magic flared, just enough that he instantly spotted the large white SUV careening towards him.  It was still a block off, but on a one-way road, with no handy driveways and the intersection behind him, the young man had no place to go.  His eyes narrowed as he judged the car’s speed, then he paled.  The speed limit, as with most places, was a solid 50 km/h **(1)**, while the oncoming car was doing at _least_ twice that.

With no place to go, Lance laid on his horn, trying to get the oncoming driver’s attention, and slammed on the brakes, the lesson on how a head-on collision actually applied the speed of _both_ cars to the accident running through his head.  The slate-blue Impala obeyed at once, its own brakes screeching a bit as it slid to a halt, but it made no difference in the long run.  The white Dodge Durango, far from slowing, accelerated even more as it blew through a stop sign and rammed the Chevy Impala head on.

Both cars slid, the Durango forward and the Impala backwards.  The middle-aged female driving the Durango didn’t even seem to realize that her car had hit something; she stepped harder on her gas pedal, confusion furrowing her jaw.  The two cars kept moving until the Impala’s back end struck a stop sign and got snagged.  The Durango kept trying to move forward, its engine roaring as the driver kept applying pressure on her gas pedal.  When it happened, it was almost inevitable…a piece of the Impala that had been sheared off in the initial collision managed to bounce off the road and get wedged between the Durango’s gas tank and the rear axle.  As the SUV fought to move forward, its rear tires screeching as they slid from side to side, the metal debris worked its way through the Durango’s gas tank, creating a leak.  As gas began to soak the undercarriage and the ground, the SUV’s engine roared, full pressure applied to its gas pedal.

The woman in the driver’s seat of the Durango blinked, puzzled as to why her vehicle wasn’t moving.  A _thuwump_ preceded the back end of her car briefly lifting off the road and slamming back down.  She looked around, finally registering that she’d had an accident and her car was on fire.  She scrambled out of her SUV, fleeing to the sidewalk nearby where the shock of the crash and the alcohol in her system finally won the battle; she sank to the ground, unconscious.

Behind her, the newborn fire roared as it ripped through her car and advanced on the pinned Chevy Impala.  Behind the Impala’s steering wheel, the unconscious teen groaned, but didn’t move.

 

[1] Kilometers per hour, rather than the typical American miles per hour (MPH).  Canada switched their speed limits from MPH to km/h in 1977.


	3. Fire and Grief

Flames roared high, eating hungrily into the two vehicles in the middle of a normally quiet neighborhood.  One of the residents called 911, shrieking, “Two cars, they just had an accident and now they’re on fire!”

The phone was slammed down before the dispatcher could get a location, but the 911 center was not so easily deterred.  In less than a minute, the address was confirmed and fire trucks dispatched as other calls from the same area came in.

In the lead fire truck, a veteran firefighter shook his head, wondering, as always, what would be waiting for himself and his men once they arrived on scene.  From the other, far more detailed calls, it was nothing good.  The best he could hope for was that no one died because of the accident or the fire.

Sirens wailed as the fire trucks and firefighters arrived; shouts preceded the first jets of water onto the fire, which hissed in indignation and outrage to be so assaulted.  Behind the first fire trucks, an ambulance wailed its way in close by, the two paramedics inside hoping against hope that both drivers and any passengers had been pulled from the engulfed cars before they’d arrived.  Normally, they advised against moving victims, but sometimes, you had to break the rules to save lives.

Close to the fire, the residents of the block grouped around a middle-aged woman, groaning and hardly conscious, but alive.  The two paramedics swept over, bringing their kits, but not a stretcher…not yet anyway.  As one examined the fallen woman, noting signs of trauma and making mental notes…particularly of the strong scent of alcohol wafting off the woman’s clothing, a neighbor eagerly informed her partner, “She was driving the SUV…I saw her get out and run away.  I was about to send my Frank to keep her from running away when she just collapsed.”  The woman vibrated in glee to be in the midst of the action.  “Well, I called 911 of course, then came out here to see to the poor dear.  Such a shame this had to happen to her.”  Around the speaker, the other neighbors nodded in agreement, some of them sheltering their young children from the sight of the fire only a few meters away.  One child tried to speak up, but her mother shushed her absently.

“What about the other driver?” the male paramedic inquired, glancing around.

Silence fell around them, the residents trading anxious looks, but not offering up any information.  The two paramedics looked at the foremost resident in horror, the weight of their stares making the woman nervous as she looked away from them.  As the moment hung, the answer become ever more obvious…and horrifying.  The child by her mother tried to speak up again, but was shushed once more; her frustration shone in her face and she stamped one little foot, her eyes and expression turning indignant.

The female paramedic’s eyes hardened and, getting her partner’s attention, she jerked her thumb at the firefighters nearby.  The male paramedic bolted away from the small crowd, heading directly for a firefighter he knew and had worked with before.

“The other driver’s still in the car!” he yelled, his panic and the roar of the fire making his shout necessary to be heard.

The lead firefighter glanced over at the paramedic, then back at the blazing, formerly slate-blue sedan.  “Then they’re dead!” he yelled back at the paramedic.  “No way someone could survive in _that!_ ”

On the sidewalk, the little girl tried yet again to speak up, but her mother, tired of her daughter’s nonsense and not wanting the girl to watch the fire any longer, took her inside, ignoring the girl’s plaintive cry.  The other neighbors dispersed, or, at least, so it seemed.  In reality, they gathered in another nearby yard to avidly discuss the day’s events and cluck over the clearly drunk driver who’d caused the tragedy.

Slowly, sullenly, the flames died down, drowned by the expertly applied water and the persistent firefighters.  Miraculously, the two license plates had survived the fire without becoming too warped to read.  One firefighter read off the Durango’s license plate, nodding to himself at the information he got back.  He jerked his thumb at the few neighbors still surrounding the fallen middle-aged driver.  “Definitely her car,” he announced grimly.  “And she’s got a record of DUI arrests…her license is suspended right now.”

Angry mutters rose; the other driver had paid the price for the woman’s _latest_ bout of drunken driving.  The lead firefighter shook his head to himself, mourning the unknown driver’s loss…and to such a preventable cause.  He drew in a breath, then read off the Impala’s license plate.  “Okay, our second plate is K3BN 182.  You got that?”

The dispatcher nodded to himself.  “Yeah, I got it,” he reassured the captain.  “Just give me a minute.”

A sardonic smirk spread across the fire captain’s face.  “We got time,” he murmured, eyeing the smoking wreck of two cars.

On the other end, the dispatcher froze as the information popped up on his screen.  He drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widened in horrified shock, and he just barely managed to ask, “Read that license plate off again, please?”

Captain Simon Griggs scowled to himself.  What happened to ‘yeah, I got it’?  In his irritation, he just about barked out, “Kilo, Three, Bravo, November, One, Eight, Two. **(2)**”  He paused.  “You get it this time?”

There was a moment of silence, then a sigh.  “Yeah, I got it, but you aren’t gonna like it…car belongs to a member of the Strategic Response Unit.”  Both men were silent a moment.  “I’ve got a phone number, if you want it,” the dispatcher offered.

Silence hung for a very long moment between the two.  Captain Griggs closed his eyes…a cop, and not _just_ a cop, but a member of what was often called the cavalry.  What a mess.  “You’d better give it to me,” he finally whispered.  “We have to check.”

The Captain eyed the smoldering wreck as the phone in his hand rang and rang.  He shook his head.  No way it would be…

“Sergeant Parker speaking.”

For an instant, Captain Griggs froze in astonishment.  “Sergeant Parker, my name is Simon Griggs; I’m with the Fire Department.”  He eyed the car again.  “Do you know who’s driving your car, Sergeant?”  Maybe it had been stolen, maybe, maybe, maybe…

Confusion, mixed with wary alarm.  “My nephew, why?”

Captain Griggs let his head drop, new horror and shame filling him, even though he couldn’t have possibly arrived quickly enough to save the young man.  “You’d better get down here as soon as you can, sir.  There’s been an accident.”

“My nephew, is he okay?” Sergeant Parker demanded sharply.

The firefighter continued to stare at the remains of the car.  “Please get here as soon as you can, sir.”  He gave the Sergeant the address, then hung up, resisting the urge to scream and hurl his phone at the ground.

Several feet away, the two cars both let out loud screeches as their roofs, weakened by the fire, gave way with a loud crash.

* * * * *

It _could_ get worse, Captain Griggs decided sourly as the black mid-sized SUV came to a halt and the occupants almost tumbled out.  A young redheaded girl tried to race for the still smoking cars; when the mostly bald SRU Sergeant caught her, holding her back, she screamed, fighting to get loose, her movements and her eyes desperate.

As Griggs approached, he heard the Sergeant whisper, “Easy, ‘Lanna, easy.  We’re gonna find out what’s going on and then I’m going to ground your brother until he’s thirty for scaring us like this.”

But the face that looked up, the eyes that met Griggs’ told him the Sergeant already knew what was about to happen.  Dread and grief filled the other man’s brown eyes and the SUV’s driver, tall, bald, and with piercing blue eyes, looked as if he was bracing himself.

Captain Griggs swallowed hard and forced the words out.  “I’m sorry, Sergeant Parker, but your nephew…he didn’t make it.”

The girl’s howl of grief was almost inhuman, a screeching sound that ripped and tore at both hearing and the sky above.  She collapsed into the Sergeant’s grip, a rending keening sound coming from her as she clung to her…uncle?

The Sergeant’s expression went blank, but Griggs could recognize a professional mask when he saw one.  It took a moment for words to come and when they came, they were half-strangled with newborn grief.  “How?”  Stoic eyes crumpled, the mask clung to like a life preserver, “He just got his license, he was just out enjoying the moment…how?”

The witnesses had already given Captain Griggs a fairly good idea of what had happened.  It was a breach of protocol to tell the grieving pair what had happened, but the captain hardly cared.  With a nod towards the ambulance, Griggs replied, “Looks like the other driver was coming home after a few too many and she went the wrong way down a one-way street.  Your nephew didn’t do anything wrong; from what we’ve heard, he tried his best to _prevent_ the accident.  Laid on his horn, stopped his car, but the road here is so narrow, he didn’t have anywhere to go.”

He didn’t think the Sergeant took much of what he said in, shock and inevitable denial were setting in and the Sergeant’s focus was on the wailing, keening girl in his arms.  The other man looked just as shocked and horrified, but anger was crossing his face as he listened… _he_ understood _very_ well what Griggs was implying.

But all of that vanished as behind him, another screech came from both cars as the cooled metal was pulled apart.  Captain Griggs turned, watching as his men began the laborious task of extracting what was left of the young driver from his metal coffin.

What a waste…a young man cut down in the prime of his life by a woman who just _had_ to drink and drive.  Even as he watched the Jaws of Life cut into the burned out Impala, Captain Griggs felt another ghost join the ones he already carried and wondered, absently, just how many more he could carry.

 

[2] For the second plate reading, Captain Griggs used what is known as the phonetic alphabet, where each letter of the alphabet is assigned a word.  For example, instead of A, B, C; it is Alpha, Bravo, Charlie.


	4. A Caged Gryphon

He woke slowly, a thudding pain just behind his eyes and his torso aching, as if he’d fallen or been hit or maybe taken a Bludger to the ribs.  The bed below him was soft, the blanket on top of him warm and comfortable, and he almost fell right back to sleep, but his magic tingled, pushing at him anxiously.  He was so muzzy that it took a few minutes to understand what his magic was upset about and when he _did_ understand, panic was muted by pain and the inability to _think_.  His sister…she should have been there…his uncle should have been there…if he’d been hurt, they would come, he _knew_ they would, but they weren’t there.  Why weren’t they there?

A hand rested on his forehead, tender, but unfamiliar.  He was still so exhausted that he didn’t even have to pretend to be asleep, his body didn’t even twitch as the hand expertly checked him for fever.  Then unfamiliar lips touched his forehead in a kiss; this time he had to subdue the urge to squirm away.

Though he struggled to stay awake, to throw his magic out to find his sister, find his family, exhaustion and something else abruptly pulled him down into sleep again.

* * * * *

The second time he woke, it was to the sensation of someone stroking his hair, brushing it back in a rhythmic motion that felt like being petted…something he disliked unless he was in his Animagus form.  His head still hurt, a throbbing pain that made him wonder, idly, if he was having an aneurysm like his sister had had.  It didn’t hurt enough for that, he finally decided.

The unfamiliar hand rested on his forehead, a soft tisk reaching his ears.  “There, there, Daniel,” a woman’s voice soothed.  “Mommy will take care of you and you’ll feel better soon, dear.”  Another tisk.  “Mommy will protect you, darling; you’ll never have to be afraid again.”

Before he could even _try_ to struggle up, soft words reached his ears and then magic touched him, dragging him down into slumber.

* * * * *

The feel of rope around his wrists greeted him as he struggled up from sleep yet again.  One eye cracked open to regard his situation, then closed in an effort to keep the woman from realizing he was awake, though he suspected it was a futile effort.  The ropes were long enough that he could move comfortably about the bed, but they would keep him from going any farther, he decided.

When he reached for his magic, it merely ‘flopped’ in his mental vision, alarming him further.  The magic felt limp, weak and weary, as if he’d been using it nonstop for days, but he _hadn’t_.  Fear raced though him; there were potions designed to suppress magic, but for some reason, it felt like they were doing much _worse_ to _him_.  He felt weak, as though his magic being suppressed had drained his physical strength as well.

“Good morning, Daniel,” the woman remarked, sitting on the edge of the bed and running an affectionate hand down his forehead.  “You slept well?”  When the boy feigned still being asleep, her voice turned vaguely disapproving.  “None of that, my angel,” she chided.  “Mommy knows when you’re playing with her.  Now, open those lovely green eyes of yours, sweetie.”

Well…there was nothing for it…the teenager opened his eyes, meeting soft brown eyes that studied his own, then narrowed in clear distaste.  Her hair was the same brunet shade as his, but hung limp and lank around her face, unwashed and unstyled.  Though he couldn’t see her well from his prone position, he could tell that her frame was rather slim; her hands looked so soft that he suspected she hadn’t worked a day in her life and her clothing looked expensive and professionally tailored.  Streaked makeup lined her eyes, as if she’d been crying, but with rope around his wrists, he didn’t feel so much as a _lick_ of sympathy for her.

The young man didn’t get a chance to speak as she burst out, “What in Merlin’s name have you done to your eyes, Daniel?”  Her wand rose into view and the teen cringed.  “Such _lovely_ green eyes you have, Daniel, and you went and turned them _blue_?  Why would you do that, Daniel; don’t you know how much Mommy loves your green eyes?  So much like your father, aren’t you?”  She tisked, shaking her head and changing moods so quickly that the boy in the bed blinked in astonishment.  “But all of that is in the past, isn’t it, Daniel?”  She pulled him into a hug.  “I have you back now, my son.  Mommy has missed you _so_ much, sweetie.”

He stiffened in the hug, refusing to respond, refusing to give his unknown captor the _satisfaction_ of any reply to her absurd statements.  He had no idea who this ‘Daniel’ was, no idea where he was, and even less idea of where his family was.  And something about this woman was making him very, _very_ nervous…as if she was right on the edge.

She released him, standing back up.  “Now, I know you must be tired, after all of that nonsense, Daniel.”

“I’m not,” the teenager replied, watching her wand warily.  “I’m not tired at all.”  If he could just stay awake long enough to figure a way out of here…

A smile met his words.  “So brave,” the woman crooned.  “Just like the son I know.  But Mommy knows best, Daniel.”  Before he could protest again, her wand flicked towards him and he felt his eyelids sliding shut without his permission.  His body slumped against the bed, sinking down into slumber.

* * * * *

He felt strange, his body felt heavy, too heavy to move, but his mind was awake.  Nearby, he heard an argument going on.  “You can’t just keep a Muggle boy here, Helen; the Muggles will be searching for him in no time!”

“They won’t be,” the woman who was keeping him captive replied.  “I watched after I got him out, you see.  They think he’s dead.”

Dread crawled up his spine; his family thought he was dead?  Why would they think that?  For some reason, it felt like he was missing something…missing time, missing a memory…but what?  And why did the two women think he was a techie?

The newcomer sounded as if she’d thrown up her hands.  “You kidnapped a Muggle boy and then you let his family think he was dead?  How _could_ you, Helen?  I know you miss your son, but this boy _isn’t him_.  You have to take him back.”

“He’s not a Muggle,” Helen said suddenly.  “I found a wand on him.”

Footsteps sounded; the young man on the bed shuddered.  How on Earth did _that_ make a difference…she was still keeping him from his family, letting them think he was _dead_.  He strained to shift, to move, but his body didn’t even twitch.  Frustration rose and he tried to summon his magic, only to have it ‘flop’ and fall silent.  Great…even his magic being kept from him.  Panic rose, but did no more good…his body, usually obedient to his every whim, now felt like a cage, imprisoning his soul just as much as the woman, Helen, was.

“Let me get this straight…you _kidnap_ a Muggleborn and you think that’s all right?  Just fine and dandy…nothing to see here, move along.  Helen, what about the poor lad’s family?  Would you put them through the same pain you had when you lost Daniel?”

“If they cared about him, they wouldn’t have let him go out in that Muggle deathtrap in the first place,” Helen argued.  “He can stay with me…he’ll have a much _better_ life…a _safer_ life with me.”  Silence hung.  “He’s just like Daniel; you can’t take him away from me, Maria.”  Her voice turned pleading.  “Please, Maria, promise me…promise me you won’t take my Daniel away from me.”

‘Maria’ sighed heavily.  “He’s not one of us,” she reminded Helen…their listener swallowed hard at the automatic assumption that he was a tech-born and thus lesser than the two purebloods in the next room.  “And too many people know what happened to Daniel; you could never reveal him, Helen.  It would be too dangerous…for both of you.”

A disdainful snort.  “As if I would let anything happen to my son, Maria.  Now, Daniel will be waking up soon and I’d best be there when he does.”

“Why?” Maria asked warily.

Helen’s smile was in her voice.  “He’s most inventive, my Daniel.  He hasn’t learned yet that Mommy can handle him, oh no he hasn’t.  He keeps trying to sneak his magic past me, that foolish child.”  A pause.  “Mommy has had to get very stern with his magic, yes she has.”

Lion’s Mane, she was insane…she thought he was her dead son and she was insane.

“Suppression Potions, sister dear?  You know those aren’t meant to be used long-term.”

“And they won’t be,” Helen replied tartly.  “Just until Daniel understands his place.”

Another shiver worked its way up the young man’s spine.  No wonder his magic was so limp and weak.  He had to get out of here.  But try as he might, he couldn’t move a muscle.  He was so busy struggling that he failed to realize he had company.

“See how it is, Maria?” Helen demanded, before her footsteps approached the bed.  “Rest now, Daniel,” she soothed.  “It will be better soon.”  One hand stroked his cheek.  “Soon, you’ll forget those nasty Muggles and everything will be perfect.  Everything will be _just_ like it was before you went away and left Mommy behind, my baby.”

Magic wrapped around him, but now that he knew, now that she’d said it, he fought, with all his might, against it.  Inside, the flickering embers of his magic fought too, clinging to who he was with all its might.

“What will you do with his wand?” Maria asked in the background, as the young man fought harder and harder against the magic holding him down and trying to take his memories from him.  She sounded utterly unconcerned by what was happening.  The teen gritted his teeth, infuriated by the woman’s unconcern with his plight, with what her sister was doing.

“Give it back,” the teen slurred out, beginning to gain ground against Helen’s magic.  “It’s mine…give it back.”  He shook his head.  “And I’m not Daniel.”

“Of course you are,” Helen soothed, stroking his forehead.  She rose, retrieving his wand and sitting back down on the bed.  “But I won’t let you get hurt again, Daniel, I won’t.”  She shook her head.  “You mustn’t fight it, Daniel.  Let the magic work, Daniel…you’ll feel much better once it’s over.”

Magic flared, struggling ever harder; it felt like he was trying to use his magic through thick layers of concrete.  “I’m not Daniel,” the teen repeated, sounding more and more alert.  “And that’s mine,” he managed, trying to reach for the wand.

An instant later, the sound of snapping wood filled the small room.  Maria gasped, just as taken aback by Helen’s actions as the teen on the bed was.  “Sister, was that wise?”

“I won’t let Daniel get hurt again, Maria.  He can stay with me…forever.”

Her magic curled around him, renewing itself and folding in on him, and he felt himself start to lose the fight.  “Not Daniel,” he mumbled, still straining.

“Then who are you?” Maria asked coldly.

His mouth formed the name, but Helen’s magic pulled him down before he could speak it.  As he slid down into blackness, he clung to his name, stubborn will and fragments of magic wrapping around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to put this in Tuesday's chapter, but oh, boy, did I have a rough Sunday. My SUV, loyal, loyal car, refused to start and Roadside Assist took over an hour to show up. (On their list of scrolling excuses: We're sending a second driver 'cause the first guy got pulled over. Did they call me and let me know? Oh, _no_ , let's wait until the upset customer calls asking what's taking so long.) They jumpstarted my car and the computer went _nuts_ : wipers going, rough engine, computer whining that it wasn't in park. Fortunately, the second try (Turn it on and add a little gas) stayed on long enough for me to get to my nearest Firestone for a new battery.
> 
> Turns out, my car battery lurks in front of my left front wheel, so to replace (or even _check_ ) the battery, they have to take the wheel off! When they finally got to the battery, it was so _dead_ , it wouldn't take a charge. Thank the Lord that I was able to drive safely from my apartment to Firestone - and that the Lord prompted me to turn off as many electronics as possible during the drive.


	5. No Closure

This wasn’t happening, it _wasn’t_.  He hadn’t just lost his nephew to a car accident the _same_ day as his nephew finally got his license and turned sixteen.  Alanna keened into his chest, her cries bringing her Animagus form to mind as Greg struggled to lift her into the back seat of Eddie’s SUV.  Distantly, it dawned on him that he didn’t have a car anymore, but that paled in comparison to the thumping agony of grief, shock, and denial.

Eddie spoke quietly to the fire captain, whose name Greg had forgotten, his stance taut and upset, anger fairly vibrating in the air.  Greg didn’t dare turn his ‘team sense’ on…Eddie’s anger and the cheerful emotions of his teammates, prepping a party that would never happen would overwhelm his already tattered and battered negotiator mask.  It seemed to take forever to lift Alanna into her seat and pull the seat belt across her chest…his vision kept blurring and Alanna kept clinging to him, her plaintive keens dying into softer cries.  And the stubborn buckle refused to latch; his vision grew blurrier and blurrier the longer it took.

“Greg, stay with her,” Eddie ordered quietly from right behind him.  “Don’t worry about the seat belts…I won’t let anything happen.”

Numb and grieving, Greg didn’t argue; Ed had to go around to the other side and pull Alanna to the center of the seat, but then Greg was able to get up next to her and cradle her close.  The SUV started, backing up and pulling away, but Greg’s entire world had compressed down to his niece and the empty hole where his nephew should have been.

* * * * *

Ed broke the news to the rest of the team; Greg couldn’t…he _couldn’t_ …tell them that his nephew was dead…that his entire world had just fallen to pieces with no way out…that it was done, over.  Alanna was still keening, if too softly for anyone else to hear, and Greg wished he could join her, but he pushed his own tears down, even as they filled his eyes.

He had to be strong, after all, had to support her through all of this…when it was done, when it was over, he could fall apart, but until then, he had to stay the course, had to keep his mask intact.  No matter what it cost him.

* * * * *

He should have known better, of course.  His team wasn’t about to let him rip himself to pieces by burying his pain and grief.  Wordy carried Alanna to a different room and Ed stayed with his boss as the rest of the team dispersed, aware that their team leader had the best chance of getting through to their grieving, but stubbornly stoic boss.

“Come on, Greg,” Ed began, his voice level, but breaking under the surface.  “You can’t do this to yourself.  You can’t.”

He didn’t look at his team leader.  “What are you talking about, Eddie?”  A lie, he knew perfectly well what Ed was talking about.

“Don’t bury this, Greg,” Ed snapped.  “Let it out…scream, cry, _something_.”

“I can’t; Alanna needs me.”  It was as simple as that.

A frustrated hiss.  “And she _not_ going to have you if you don’t let some of this out, Greg.  You’re going to end up halfway down a bottle and she’s going to be all _alone_.”  A pause, but Greg didn’t respond.  “And that’ll be _your_ fault that she’s alone,” Ed goaded.  Greg’s jaw twitched, but he still didn’t respond.  “Just like it’s _your_ fault that her brother is…”

Greg’s fist crashed against Ed’s jaw and the Sergeant took down one of his best friends with an anguished roar of pain and outrage.  The two men locked and went down together, slamming onto the floor; Ed rolled just a bit to cushion the blow.  On the ground, Greg’s control broke and he felt the sobs wrench free.  Once they started, he couldn’t have stopped even if his life depended on it.  Ed grabbed him in a hug, pushing both of them upright enough that Greg’s head and chest were supported.  Grief, pain, and denial rolled off the Sergeant…it wasn’t happening, couldn’t be real…but it was; it was.

In the background, he was aware of Eddie, hanging onto him, supporting his boss the only way he _could_.  A memory of Ed struggling to get through to Danny Rangford ran through Greg’s head and he _knew_ that Ed was fighting with all he had to keep that from happening again, from facing another suicidal friend.  But in the depths of his own pain and anguish, his heart refused to understand anything more than the fact that his nephew was gone and nothing was right anymore.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before the sobs stopped, before the tears dried up, but when they had, he registered that he and Ed weren’t alone.  Everyone except Wordy and Alanna was there, but none of them looked angry at him for attacking Eddie.  Spike had even managed to get right by his boss and team leader, one hand resting on Greg’s arm; though the bomb tech’s eyes were suspiciously shiny, his expression was steady, supporting.  Vaguely, Greg wondered when he’d started rubbing off on his teammates so much that they could mirror his own favorite expressions back at him.

“We got you, Sarge,” Jules whispered, tears in her own eyes, slipping down her cheeks.  “You just hold on…we’re going to get through this.”  Over her shoulder, Sam nodded, his face rigid, the tears forced back just like Greg’s had been, but then, both Sam and Ed disliked being vulnerable in front of others, even their own teammates.  And right now, Greg felt like a hypocrite for even _noticing_ that Sam was being stoic…and drained; he had nothing left to give right now, nothing at all.

Greg swallowed hard, a lump in his throat…in his chest.  “I don’t know if I can do this without him,” he managed.  New tears stung his eyes; this was _worse_ than the day he’d come home to find his family gone…at least then he’d known they were still alive, even if they’d never come back.  His nephew never would; he was gone, gone forever.

Ed’s grip tightened, Spike flinched, and Lou knelt so he could look his boss in the eye.  “One day at a time, Sarge,” he coached.  “We’re right here and we won’t let you fall.”

Their usual acknowledgement wouldn’t come, so Greg just nodded, helpless pain and loss burning bright in brown eyes.

* * * * *

He wanted to see the body…he ignored everything his team tried to tell him…about how bad it would be, about how his nightmares would be haunted for _years_ by the sight…he _needed_ to see Lance, to say good-bye, to scream and rail and everything else.  In the immediate moment, nothing else mattered anymore…he’d take memories ten times worse if it meant he could see his nephew one last time.  And even _that_ hurt, stabbed at him with a sense of utter finality… _last time_.

For the first time, he regretted that day the teens had been brought to his doorstep…if not for him…if not for his life and his team…Lance would still be alive…he’d still be _alive_.  Grief swamped everything else, keeping him from remembering what Silnok had told him once…that without _him_ , the kids would have gone to a Death Eater.  That without him, they probably wouldn’t have survived long enough to see the end of the summer when they’d lost their parents.

Still numb and struggling to put one foot in front of the other, he entered the morgue, his blank eyes and frozen expression saying almost everything for him.  Ed had insisted on coming as well, but all of them had refused to let Alanna come…she was too young to see this, she should have the memory of her brother, still alive and carefree.  Not the nightmare Greg was about to willingly inflict on himself.

Ed spoke for his boss, his voice taut with his own sorrow and grief.  “We’re here to identify Lance Calvin.”

Identify.  It sounded so cold and so impersonal…as if Lance hadn’t been a living, breathing human being…as if he’d been an object of some kind.  But Greg was too lost in his grief to muster much outrage.  His ‘team sense’, left off since he’d gotten the call, _thrummed_ its own sorrow for the lost; he forced it down, not wanting _any_ part of it _ever_ again.  It had too many memories of his nephew attached, memories of his nephew trying to teach him how to handle the Animagus traits he’d been saddled with after the case with Agent Semple.

The assistant frowned, checking his computer.  “The two car fire, right?”

“That’s right,” Ed grated out.

Silence hung, broken only by the click of mouse and keyboard.  Finally, the man shook his head.  “They didn’t find any bodies in those two cars.”

_What?_   Greg froze, saw Eddie freeze as well.  His voice came out, raspy and broken.  “Does that mean my nephew is…still alive?”  Awful, horrid hope clenched at him and he grabbed the counter to keep himself on his feet.

Regret and sympathy shone in the assistant’s eyes and he shook his head.  “Between the witness statements and the temperatures the fire reached, the coroner has chosen to issue a death certificate, regardless of the lack of a body.”

“Why?” Ed demanded sharply.  “If there’s no body…”

A sigh.  “The fire reached temperatures high enough to cremate a body.  Now, I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you.”  He read farther down.  “If you have any further questions, Sergeant Parker, you’ll have to reach out to a Detective Logan at the 27th Precinct.  He’s been assigned your nephew’s case.”

* * * * *

Answers weren’t going to be any easier than _not_ seeing his nephew’s body, but Greg was, under the shock and the grief and the numbness, _determined_ to see this through.  With Ed a steady presence at his back, the Sergeant walked into the 27th Precinct and asked to speak to Detective Logan.

“Sergeant Parker, right?”  The speaker, coming up right behind him, was a tall man, about Sam’s height, with dark brown hair that was cut short, save for a ruff that hung over his forehead.  Brown eyes were both sympathetic and business-like, from within a long face and a sharp profile.  The detective wore a crisp brown business suit and had just taken off what looked like an old style trenchcoat…for an instant, Greg wondered if the detective was actually an Auror before his mind caught up with him again.

“That’s right,” Greg confirmed.

The detective extended his hand for a brief shake, then introduced himself.  “Detective Mike Logan; my partner and I caught your nephew’s case.  DA’s looking at manslaughter charges against the driver; she was driving on a suspended license, she was still twice the legal limit when they tested her at the hospital, and she’s got a long history of DUI and DWI arrests.”

It hurt, stabbed at him to hear that his nephew had died at the hands of a drunk driver.  His own history needled at him, taunting him with the knowledge that it was only luck that had prevented _him_ from killing anyone else like this woman had.  He was grateful when Eddie stepped in.  “What about Lance’s body, Detective?”

A brisk nod as the detective led the pair back to his desk.  “We were surprised too, let me tell you,” the detective replied.  “I mean, no one saw him get out, so he _had_ to still be in the car when it went up.  First time I’ve ever had a coroner give me a death certificate for an accident vic without a body.  Forensics came through, though.  Your nephew’s fingerprints are all over the trunk, which was actually pretty intact…”

“We _know_ he was driving the car,” Greg interrupted.  “How do you know he was in the car when it burned if you don’t have a body?”

For an instant, Detective Logan’s eyes flashed at the interruption, but Greg wasn’t interested in a posturing match.  Then the Detective explained, so sympathetic that Greg wondered at the tone, “Forensics was able to tell how intensely the fire burned and it was hot enough inside that car to completely incinerate the body.  They’re still looking for any fragments that might have survived, but I’m sorry…there’s not going to be a body to bury here.”

No body…Greg felt that fact slam into him like a two-by-four.  His jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists, but he forced himself to keep from lashing out.  “They didn’t find anything in the car?” he croaked out.

Detective Logan gravely shook his head.  “I wish I could tell you differently, but I can’t, Sergeant Parker.  We’ll keep you apprised of the manslaughter case, of course, but I don’t expect forensics to come back with anything more on your car.”

He choked out a thank you, then turned and walked out of the station as fast as he could, Ed right behind him.  When they reached Eddie’s car, Greg just stopped, unable to think beyond the fact that his nephew didn’t even have a _body_ to bury.  This time, when the tears came, he couldn’t force them back.

* * * * *

His team closed ranks around the two survivors, refusing to leave them alone for even a moment.  Greg, still numb and hurting, could only cling to his niece as the two planned out the memorial service…with no body, there was little point in a traditional funeral.

When Greg’s strength failed, his team was there.  Wordy and Shelley forced Greg and Alanna to stay at their house, instead of the apartment that was filled with memories.  Ed took to getting all the documentation in order, burying his emotions under the necessary paperwork and details.  Jules planned out the service with Shelley’s help, organizing the flowers and the music.  Spike, Lou, and Sam handled finding a new car for their boss, although they refused to get the same make and model…there were going to be enough nightmares all ‘round without deliberately making things worse.  In the end, they found a nice little SUV that really just made Greg’s heart ache…Lance would have _loved_ driving the new car.

Commander Holleran took the whole of Team One off rotation, though it would only be for a few days…Team One had, unfortunately, missed enough work over the past year that even a few days off was starting to push their remaining leave time.  The other SRU teams pitched in, offering up their own leave days to help the grieving team out.

But as Greg forced himself out of bed each day and comforted his grief-stricken niece as best he could, he wondered at one thing…why was there a part of his soul that refused to admit that Lance was dead?


	6. Wild and Deep

“Daniel?  Daniel, sweetie, wake up.”

Unfamiliar…the voice wasn’t one he knew…he didn’t want to wake up here…he wanted to wake up at home…with…with…with…

“Come on, my angel, wake up…Mommy’s made your favorite breakfast.”

Sapphire flicked open, but then the young man in the bed groaned and rolled over, clutching his stomach.  The woman right by his bedside only just managed to get a bowl under him before he threw up.  His head hurt and his muscles hurt and it felt like he’d just run all day and all night…his entire form quivered and he threw up again.

It seemed like forever, but he finally managed to rasp out, “Hospital.”  His voice was pleading, all but begging for help.

The woman…Helen, he suddenly remembered, shook her head.  “Don’t be silly, Daniel; I can take care of you here.  Mommy will help you get better.”  She stroked his head and he futilely struggled to duck away, despite how awful he felt.  He didn’t like that…right?

His head throbbed anew and he groaned as he clutched it, reflexively reaching for his magic in an effort to make it stop hurting.  At first, his magic stuttered, fluttering and drained, but by what?  He didn’t _think_ he’d been using it all that much…had he?  The teen panted, sinking deeper into the bed, sheer misery flooding him…he didn’t know where he was, didn’t know who the woman was, but he _did_ know he wasn’t where he _should_ be.  And where he _should_ be, inside he _knew_ it was a safe place, a place where his magic wasn’t limp and weak, where _he_ wasn’t weak and throbbing…and he wanted to go _home_ …wherever that was.

After a few minutes, he tried to reach for his magic again; it surged higher, but fell away, still too drained to use; that drained feeling dragged at his whole being and the woman had to support him again as his body rebelled.  Funny…it was almost as if his magic was being suppressed, but why would Helen do that?  That was wrong, that was bad; to lock away his magic wasn’t _possible_ …it was too much a part of him, as essential as blood and oxygen.

Inside, his magic finally broke free from its restraints and memory flooded back; he almost snarled as he realized what she’d been trying to do.  Fortunately, his expression was mistaken for renewed pain as Helen cooed over him again.  “Hospital,” he repeated…if he could just get away from her long enough to get _real_ help.

Helen laughed, but it was a high, brittle sounding laugh.  “It’s just a little cold, Daniel,” she countered.  “You’ll feel better soon, baby.”

No, he wouldn’t…he still couldn’t remember exactly what happened before he’d woken up on the bed here, but he didn’t think a few days in bed were going to be enough.  But the pain of the past few…days?...hours?...had faded enough that he could more accurately pinpoint why his magic felt so weak.  He remembered Helen’s sister…Maria?...talking about Suppression Potions, so that was one factor; no wonder his magic felt drained and shackled.  The spells Helen had been using on him were another factor…sleep and memory spells.  His magic was being forced to fight off potions, spells, and who knew what else Helen was trying to use on him, which drained his reserves and his strength, but the core factor behind his weakness was his current physical condition.  Nor could he get better as long as his magic was being forced to handle Helen’s magical assault as well as whatever had put him in _this_ state.

It only took a minute or two to decide on his best course of action…as much as his decision made him cringe and wince internally.  “P-please, Mum,” he pleaded, unable to actually use ‘Mom’…she was _not_ his mother.  “Please, I feel really bad,” he begged.

One hand rubbed over his forehead, checking for fever.  “There, there, Daniel,” Helen whispered.  “Mummy will make it all better, I promise.”  She hugged him fiercely; he was grateful he was too weak to be expected to hug back.  Abruptly she drew back and turned his head to face her.  “But you must promise Mummy that you will never go off like that again.”

“Off like what?” he asked, struggling to keep his expression open and guileless.

She drew him in again, her hug turning so tight that he coughed, struggling to breathe.  His expression twisted and she read it perfectly, getting him over the bowl again before he heaved.  After a minute, during which he was pathetically grateful that she was still sane enough to clean up the mess, she spoke again.  “Daniel, Daniel, Daniel, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the day you got your Apparition license.”

He froze, shock racing through him…this Daniel had been old enough to Apparate?  He was getting a _really_ bad feeling about where this was going.  And something about the word ‘license’ was jangling at his still absent memory of _how_ he’d ended up here.

* * * * *

She stroked Daniel’s hair again, trying not to cry.  Her brave, beautiful Daniel…so excited and proud to finally have his Apparition license.  She and Alan had teased him for being so enthusiastic on his birthday…why, her normally late-sleeping son had woken up at the crack of dawn that day…that awful, horrible day.

Her son licked his lips; he looked so limp and pathetic, but he’d be better soon.  “Could you tell me about it, Mum?”

‘Mum’…she’d been _so_ disappointed when he’d stopped calling her that.  _I’m growing up in Canada, Mom…no one here uses Mum._   Helen was delighted that he’d changed his mind and smiled at her son, trying to be brave.  “Well, you passed, of course,” she began.  “And on your birthday, too…we were so proud of you, Daniel.”

* * * * *

_“Mom, can I go out?  Please?”_

_She laughed, her laugh tinkling in the corridor.  “Going to show all your friends what you can do now, son?”_

_His return smile was full of life, full of enthusiasm.  “Yeah, then I’m going to stop an Carisa’s house; I want to ask her to go with me to the musical on Sunday.”_

_Helen shook her head; her son was over his heels in love and he didn’t even seem to realize it.  Alan draped his arm over her shoulders and chuckled.  “Have fun, son, but don’t stay out too late.”_

_“I won’t, Dad, I promise!”  Daniel’s grin was bright enough to make his entire countenance glow.  Green eyes sparkled with love and life._

* * * * *

“What happened?”  Uncertainty shone in Daniel’s now blue eyes.  When a few tears fell, his expression twisted, ever so slightly.  “Why are you so sad?”

She pulled him close again, needing to feel him under her arms, feel his breath against her cheek.  Alive, alive, alive, his heartbeat seemed to tell her.

* * * * *

_Her husband’s cry drew her to the door at once, where a somber Auror waited, his gaze sympathetic.  “What’s happened?” she demanded sharply, fear rising.  Daniel was late…he was_ never _late._

_“Mrs. Smith, I’m Auror Simmons,” the Auror with very light blond hair introduced himself; automatically, she extended her hand, absently pleased when he lightly grasped her hand and bestowed a brief kiss on the knuckles.  So many young people these days had no idea of proper manners._

_That fell away though, as she demanded again, “What’s happened?”  Alan looked as if someone had hit him with a_ Cruciatus _and_ that _could not be allowed._

_Auror Simmons drew in a deep breath.  “Ma’am, your son was visiting the Englewood family?”_

_Dread rose.  “Yes, that’s correct…my son is dating their daughter.”_

_The Auror couldn’t meet her eyes.  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the entire Englewood family, along with your son, was murdered this evening.”_

* * * * *

She’d insisted on going to see his body; Alan hadn’t been strong enough to come with her.  She’d identified him, stroked his hair, closed the staring green orbs, and wept as she realized he’d been murdered by _Muggles_.  It was only later that she discovered the young Muggleborn her son was dating had been from what the Muggles called a ‘rough neighborhood’.  The Muggles responsible hadn’t even been _looking_ for the Englewoods…they’d been ‘high’, whatever that meant, and gone to the wrong home.

Her son, her _only_ son, scion of a proud, pureblood family, cut down by a group of _Muggle_ scum…who weren’t even fit to _crawl_ on the same ground as her son.  Daniel listened as she poured her emotions out, weeping openly, hugging him over and over again.  Periodically, she had to stop to hold the bowl for him, keeping his hair out of the mess and _Vanishing_ it once he was done.

When she stopped, he thought, as hard as he could at the moment.  “What happened afterwards?” he asked, voice tentative.

* * * * *

_Rain fell at the funeral…a fitting compliment to her broken heart.  Alan stood stiffly…he hadn’t cried, not even_ once _.  She resented him for that, resented him for letting their son go to_ that girl’s _house to die.  After everything he’d done, couldn’t he have the_ decency _to mourn his own son?_

_But even after the service, when the two were left alone at the fresh grave…the fresh tombstone, still…Alan did not cry.  And her resentment began to twist…_

* * * * *

_“Get out!” she screamed at Alan, her voice rising in a screech.  He was drunk,_ again _, and she was sick of it.  “Get out and don’t come back until you’ve sobered up!”_

_She hated him_ so _much for taking her son away from her.  As the door slammed behind him, she collapsed on her bed and wept, grieving loudly for her Daniel, her beautiful sweet Daniel.  When Alan didn’t come home, she considered it a fair trade…he’d finally figured out it was best to leave her alone to mourn her beloved son, finally figured out that he shouldn’t drag his drunken carcass into their bedroom, expecting her sympathy._

* * * * *

_The knock on the door drew her out of her memories, as she flipped through_ his _album, remembering his smile, his eyes, his everything.  When she opened the door, Auror Simmons stood there, his expression just as grave as it had been that night._

_“Yes, what is it?”_

_“I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith, but there’s been an accident.”_

_“An accident?”_

_A sober nod.  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Smith, but it appears that your husband accidently Apparated right in front of a Muggle vehicle on his way home.”_

_She clutched the doorway, but her heart hardened, her eyes narrowed, and one thought ran through her head,_ How dare he?  How _dare_ he abandon me now? _In her fury and anger, grief would not come and she soon decided he had done it on_ purpose _._

* * * * *

_Rain did not fall the day of Alan’s funeral and she alone of the mourners was dry-eyed.  She watched the casket lower itself into the grave and felt…nothing.  He was nothing to her now…simply the reason her beloved son was gone.  He had left her, abandoned her, and so, he was less than the Muggle filth that had killed him, less than the Muggle scum who had murdered her Daniel._

_When the ceremony was over and she was alone at the grave, she looked at the marker one last time, then turned her back and went home to her albums and her memories of Daniel.  Over the next few days, she removed Alan from every picture she owned…except one.  The last one they had taken as a family, their son’s arms wrapped around them as he laughed and tried to hold up his brand-new Apparition license._

* * * * *

As she finished her tale, she smiled with pleasure to see that her son’s breathing was no longer quite as harsh.  She let her wand dance in a brief diagnostic, sighing softly as she took in the fact that her son would be sick for a bit longer.  She’d been _so_ sure he would be better by now…how could he not, with her taking such _good_ care of him?

“Please,” he begged, those blue eyes wide and pleading.  “Hospital.”

Helen shook her head.  “No, Daniel.”  She tucked him back under the covers.  “Rest up; you’ll feel better soon.”

It was almost an afterthought, but she flicked her wand to check on her _other_ spells…the ones that would keep her son safe from those awful, _awful_ Muggles who’d put him in danger.  Alarm spread across her features at the results.

“No,” she breathed…the memory charm had broken.

“Stop,” her son cried as she lifted her wand.  “Please…I just want to go home…”

“You _are_ home, Daniel, you _are_ home,” Helen replied.  “Now, stop fighting Mummy’s magic, Daniel…it will all better soon.”

Sapphire flashed with his father’s defiance staring at her.  “I’m not Daniel,” he spat, no longer hiding as he had been…foolish child, to think he could hide anything from her.  “My name is Lance.  I’m sorry about your son, but I’m _not him!_   I have a family…”

She saw red.  “No, Daniel,” she snapped.  “You have _me!_ ”  She smiled as sweetly as she could.  “Now, relax, Daniel, and it will all be over soon.”

Gold flared around him, weak, but there.  Her own magic crashed against it; Helen gritted her teeth as the gold fought her.  What kind of magic _was_ this?  It seemed to have a mind and life of its own.  “Let me go,” her son begged.

“Never again,” she promised, “I’ll protect you, Daniel.”  Her magic glowed brighter; she heard a faint screech as the gold collapsed and her spell took hold.  As her son sank down on the pillows, she smiled again and tucked him in once more.  “I’ll protect you, Daniel…always.”

* * * * *

In the dead of night, a whisper flowed through the small house that Helen Smith had lived in since her husband and son’s deaths three years earlier.  A whimper rose from the captive on the bed, his magic just as bound and shackled as he was.  Wild Magic…caged and unable to sing…but still able to cry out for aid.

And in that cry, so faint that none could hear it, was one last attempt to reach for freedom, for family.  But a cry need not be heard by human ears to be answered, a plea for help need not be spoken aloud to be acknowledged.  The Deep Magic swirled, hearing the unhearable, sensing the unspoken.  And its Master, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea, was not content to leave things as they were.  One of His had called for aid and He would answer.

In the small house, a Lion appeared, standing over the youth on the bed.  One paw gently reached out and pulled the blanket up.  “Peace, Son of Adam,” He rumbled, unheard by any but the boy.  “Wait on Me and I will answer.”  The whimpers from the young man faded and he turned towards the Lion.  The Lion settled down next to the bed, keeping watch until dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have, as you may have noticed, posted this on Thursday night instead of Friday morning. The reason, I'm afraid, is quite simple. I also post these stories on Archive of our Own and Ao3 has a scheduled maintenance for Friday morning, right when I'd be posting this chapter. In lieu of making you all wait until Friday evening, I'm posting a few hours early. I thank Ao3 for graciously letting me know in advance that their site will be down (I'm lookin' at _you_ , Fanfiction dot net!). So, unless there's another maintenance next week, we will return to our regularly scheduled Friday (and Tuesday!) postings next week.


	7. A Word With Glynnis

Something about this whole mess stank…stank worse than three-week-old fish, which he’d been unfortunate enough to find in his refrigerator… _once_.  Roy Lane scowled to himself as he read over the accident report again.

Drunk as a skunk driver, check.

Head-on collision caused by said drunk driver, check.

Two wrecked cars, burned to a crisp, check.

License plate that matched Sergeant Parker’s car on the burned out Impala, check.

Body of a certain cheeky little brat – who Roy was _actually_ going to miss – no check.

And a flock of twittering witnesses who hadn’t seen a _bloody_ thing – and _no_ , he wasn’t going to regret borrowing the British swear word for this _bloody_ mess.  They’d been so focused on the _drunk_ – who’d caused the _bloody_ accident – that _none_ of them knew what had happened to the innocent sixteen-year-old behind the wheel of Parker’s car.

Roy slammed one hand down on the desk, resisting the urge to swear out loud – and much more colorfully.  How in the name of anything and everything good could they issue a _death certificate_ when no body had been found in the Impala?  And what in the world was this utter _junk_ about the fire burning hot enough to incinerate the body?  He didn’t care _how_ hot the fire had burned, there should have been _something_ left in that car, so where the heck had forensics gotten this garbage cremation theory?

“Still reading that?”  Auror Giles Onasi sounded as if he’d just been called to the carpet over years of unpaid taxes; Roy looked up, unsurprised by the dark circles under the other man’s eyes and the hangdog expression on his face.

He was at least more coherent than Team One; the _entire_ team was still reeling over the loss of one of ‘their’ kids and struggling to stay afloat in hurricane ridden emotional waters.  Not that Roy could blame them…the two kids had worked their way into the heart of Team One during the three years since they’d come to Toronto.  Heck, they’d even gone out of their way to get to know him in the aftermath of the Nick Watson case, clearly hoping to give him a better impression of magic than he’d gotten from Watson.

Ironically, they’d done a better job on that front than Giles had…but then, Giles, despite being a half-blood, still didn’t seem to understand much about the tech world, while the two _pureblood_ kids _lived_ in the tech world and thus understood _both_ worlds – plus, they were _kids_ ; much easier for Roy to deal with than a full-grown wizard.

Roy sighed, flipping the report around for Giles to see.  “It makes no sense,” he complained.  “I’ve been over everything half a dozen times, but it still doesn’t make sense.”  He pushed the witness statements out of the stack.  “Got at least seven witnesses who saw the crash and they describe pretty much the same thing.  The _drunk_ ,” he spat that out, burying what he _really_ wanted to call the woman, “was going at _least_ twice the legal limit, if not more, plowed through a stop sign and hit a stopped car.”

“Stopped?” Giles questioned, cocking his head to the side.  Hope flickered in his eyes, hope that Roy hated to crush.

Roy nodded.  “Yeah, I saw that too, but, no, I don’t think Lance jumped from the car.”  At Giles’ disappointed look, he continued, “I think Lance saw her coming and had time to stop, but there was nowhere for him to go and not enough time to bail out.  He _just_ took that driving course, so _I’m_ guessing he stopped to keep the Impala from adding to the total accident speed.”

“Huh?”  At times like this, Roy had to wonder how his magical partner kept anyone in Guns ‘n’ Gangs from guessing he had magic…or something like that.  Good thing no one was close enough to hear Giles confused over basic accident math.

The detective yanked a fresh piece of paper over and drew two boxes on it.  In one box, he put 50 km/h, in the other, he put 100 km/h.  Then he drew arrows so that each box had an arrow pointed at the other box.  “Okay,” he started, turning the paper, “ _This_ box,” he pointed at the lower speed, “is Lance.”  A silent nod.  Pointing to the other box, Roy said, “ _This_ box is our drunk.  If they hit each other head on, you don’t _just_ have a 50 km/h or _just_ a 100 km/h crash…you have a 150 km/h crash.”  He paused.  “That’s what makes a head-on collision one of the worst types of crashes…almost _any_ other type of crash is preferable to a head-on.”

Giles whistled low.  “He stopped to keep that from happening.”

It wasn’t a question, but Roy nodded anyway.  “Yep,” he agreed.  “Now,” he went on, turning back to the witness statements, “the cars slid after impact into a stop sign at the other end of the block – which tells you _just_ how obviously drunk and fast our _lovely_ driver was.  She didn’t even realize she’d crashed until her car’s rear end got bounced by the start of the fire.  Drunk got out of her car after it started going up, but no one saw Lance get out of the Impala.”

Giles bit his lip.  “Then he’s dead.”

Roy’s voice turned flat.  “Then why didn’t forensics find his body?”  He slid out the report on the Impala and mockingly quoted from it.  “ ‘The temperature of the vehicle was high enough to incinerate any human remains inside.  Following the accident, the driver was unconscious and likely died from either the fire or smoke inhalation.’ ”  Roy slapped the report back down, letting his disgusted expression do most of the talking for him.  “That’s what they’re saying, but I don’t buy it.”

“Why not?” Giles questioned.

A derisive snort.  “Even cremation doesn’t get rid of _everything_ , Giles.  We _know_ he was in the car, so there should be _something_ , even if it’s ash or bones or a tooth or, I don’t know, _fingernails_.  But they got _diddly squat!_   All they got to say he was in the car are fingerprints on the trunk that survived the fire, but he was _driving the car!_   Of _course_ his fingerprints are going to be on it!”

The Auror considered this, his brow furrowing as he thought.  “You think he might still be alive?”

Roy pushed a hand through his hair, sighing.  “No,” he admitted heavily.  “If he were alive, he would have come home by now…he wouldn’t do this to his family.”  Giles inclined his head in clear agreement with this point.  The detective sank a little lower in his chair.  “But where _is_ he?  No one saw _anything_ and that’s what’s driving me _nuts_!”

“Maybe _I_ could take a look?” Giles offered.

The brunet detective perked up, then sank down again.  “It’s in the middle of a tech neighborhood.”

The other brunet head tilted to the side ever so briefly.  “And I might get caught.”  Giles sighed himself as he regarded the report in front of his partner.  “We might never know,” he murmured.  It hurt, the idea, but he couldn’t deny it…and not knowing left that slender, awful thread of hope hanging.

“Yeah,” Roy whispered, “And that’s the worst part.  I could take a lot, but Parker and his sister _deserve_ to know what happened…they _deserve_ to have a body to bury, to say good-bye to.”  He sank down even further, putting his head in his hands.  “He was sixteen years old for crying out loud…sixteen…”

Giles rested a hand on his partner’s shoulder.  “Come on, Roy, let’s get some air…we’ll figure it out.”

For a moment, Roy resisted, running his eyes over the report again.  Then his shoulders slumped and he pushed himself up.  “Okay.”

* * * * *

The woman pushing a cart wouldn’t have ordinarily attracted any attention from Roy…homeless were sadly a dime a dozen and he had other things on his mind.  But something about _him_ must have attracted the woman, for she halted her cart right where he was about to walk, peering at him with surprisingly clear blue eyes from under tangled blonde hair and a navy blue knit cap that sported two small flower pins.  “Are you Roy?” she croaked out.  When he halted, starting at her in shock that she knew his name, she nodded to herself.  “Isn’t often that I get a request from Himself, oh no it isn’t, but He told me you’d be by today to ask me about what I saw.”

_Okkaaay?_   “What you saw?” Roy inquired cautiously.  “And who are you?”

“Glynnis,” she replied proudly.  “And I’ll tell you what I saw if you buy me a good lunch.”  When he started again, a small smile worked its way over her face.  “Himself would be upset if I asked you for a drink and I doubt a do-gooder cop like you would give me one anyway.”  At Roy’s disbelieving look, she rasped a rusty chuckle to herself.

“Himself?” Giles questioned over his partner’s shoulder, both brows up in clear wary caution.  One hand rested quite close to his wand, so Roy elbowed him…not good if he pulled his wand on a techie, even if she _was_ a bit off her rocker.

Glynnis rasped a chuckle.  “He keeps to Himself,” she remarked, cackling at her own play on words.  “Helps me out from time to time, if I let Him…He’d help me more, but I don’t like to owe anyone, not even Him.  I can make my own way, I can; that’s what I tell Him.  Don’t need His help, no more than anyone else does, anyway.  But He’s done me many a good turn, so I’ll tell you what I know.”

Roy considered, then shrugged.  Even if the woman babbled nonsense at them, he’d only be out the cost of a good lunch.  “Okay, Glynnis, what’s your pleasure…non-alcoholic, of course.”

* * * * *

The two men watched as Glynnis all but ripped into her lunch, eating as if she hadn’t seen a good meal in days.  Both opted to save their own lunches for later…they didn’t feel like eating after watching her.  She muttered to herself as she ate, comparing the feast before her to meals of days past.

Once she’d sated herself, humming an old tune as she licked the last juices off her fingers, Roy cleared his throat.  “So…what is it that you saw, Glynnis?”

She was silent for a few seconds, ordering her words.  “Most days,” she began, “I stay in the more… _friendly_ …areas, but that day, I wanted to wander by the old homestead, see who’s moved in since I left.”  Roy nodded thoughtfully.  “I kept to the alleys, less folks about to see you there, so you don’t get bothered.  Well, I saw the old place; not shut up anymore…”  She trailed off a moment.  “That was good…it should have lots of young ‘uns…has a good yard.”

Glynnis cleared her throat, shaking the old memories away.  “Was on my way back, but I had to take a bit of detour, avoid a patrol cop.  Was going down this alley, nice clean gravel in it…  Then I heard it…a terrific _bang_ and a screech, like cars sliding or something.”  Both men froze, but she prattled on.  “Peeked out from the alley where I was and there they were…this pretty blue car all trapped, between a white truck and a stop sign.  And there was a nice looking lad in there, not moving a bit.”  She shook her head to herself.  “Nasty it is, when nice young lads die like that…yes it is.”

“He was dead?” Roy managed to force out.

She looked at him, her expression more than a bit annoyed for the interruption.  “Hush, now, I’m not done.”  With Roy properly chastised, she continued her tale.  “Then, wouldn’t you know it, but there’s this woman there who wasn’t there before.  Seemed to pop out of nowhere and no one else noticed her.  Once she waved that stick of hers…” Giles hissed in shock, “No one even _looked_ at that poor young lad again.  She opened the door and pulled him out, then closed it again; not a mite concerned about the fire coming.  He started moving; I saw his eyes open, just a bit, but she waved that stick again and he just…slumped.  Then, before I can say ‘Bob’s your uncle’, they’re both gone… _poof_ …just like that.”

Roy was aware his jaw was hanging open by this point; he closed it with a _click_ , trading a worried look with his partner.  Glynnis regarded them, clearly disappointed and expecting to be shooed away.  It took a few seconds to get his head together enough to pull out his phone and scroll to a particular photo.  Turning the phone so Glynnis could see the image, Roy asked, “Is this the boy you saw?”

Glynnis leaned forward, inspecting the image as closely as she could.  Both Roy and Giles held their breath as she regarded the photo, tilting her head this way and that.  After some minutes, she gave her verdict.  “Certainly _looks_ like the poor lad, but, as I say, I wasn’t all that close.”

Then Giles started and pulled his own phone out, scrolling to a different image.  He held out his phone, asking anxiously, “Does this look like the car you saw?”

She peered at the image, then nodded, much more confident.  “That’s it,” she confirmed, “I remember…it looks like that car I saw once, when the snake man hit someone.”

Giles pulled in a breath, locking his eyes with Roy’s.  “It’s Parker’s car…Lance is _alive_.”

Alive, he was _alive_.  Then reality set in and Roy slumped, blowing his own breath out.  “Dang.  He’s alive.  Now what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday, September 11th. I dedicate this chapter to the victims of that horrible, horrible day in 2001. I was in 7th grade and I still remember how we were taken to the library to watch the footage live. We _saw_ the second tower fall and I will never, _ever_ forget it. A pastor from one of our local churches was on one of the aircraft that day, not someone we knew, but still.
> 
> God Bless America.


	8. The World is Wrong

Wrong, everything was wrong.  _He_ felt wrong and his magic felt wrong and the woman who called herself ‘Mummy’ felt wrong too.  Where was his Mommy and his Daddy and his baby sister?  She was two now, he knew, two years younger than him and he loved being her big brother, playing with her and letting her magic play with his.  But Mom and Dad and baby sister weren’t here, so it was wrong, all wrong.

“Want to go home,” he protested when the woman tried to feed him.  He wasn’t a _baby_ …he could feed himself.  “Where baby sister?”

“Silly Daniel…”  That wasn’t his name, but Mummy woman kept using it.  “You don’t _have_ a baby sister.”

“My name Lance,” he piped back, ignoring the angry look on Mummy woman’s face.  “I have baby sister and Mom and Dad and I want to go home.”

Mummy woman swept him up, ticking his tummy and he didn’t like it, not at all…not even Mommy did that to him.  He squirmed, trying to use his magic to get her away, but it just twitched and didn’t do _anything_.  Confused, he tried again…his magic had _never_ been locked away; Daddy had done that to baby sister a few days ago, but that was because she was too little to understand why she couldn’t use her magic when Daddy said not to.  A moment later, he burst into tears, wailing that his magic was being kept away from him.  Wrong, it was wrong and he _wanted to go home!_

“Shhh, Daniel, it will be okay,” Mummy woman whispered, petting his hair…he hated that too…and Daniel _still_ wasn’t his name.  “I know you’re very upset right now, baby, but it will be over soon, I promise.  Mummy will take care of you and we’ll live happily ever after.”

“Home, want to go home,” the four-year-old protested as loudly as he could.  “Want Mommy and Daddy and baby sister.”

His magic heard him and surged, but weakly; it touched him lightly, but slipped away before he could understand it.  Uncle?  He didn’t have an uncle, did he?  He’d met a cousin – who said he was baby sister’s cousin, too – did that mean he had an uncle?  And his magic’s touch only served to make him wail louder, upset and very, very much alone.

* * * * *

“Now, what, sister dear?” Maria inquired acidly.  “Suppression Potions aren’t working, he’s burning through your memory spells even _without_ his wand…quite impressive for a Mudblood **(3)**, if you ask me…and even your De-Aging Potion doesn’t seem to be slowing him down.”

In truth, she didn’t care all that much…her sister might be enchanted by this pathetic little Mudblood, but _she_ wasn’t…even _if_ his magic was managing things that should be impossible.  If the Mudblood had been a pureblood, well, that would have been a completely different story and she might, _might_ , then consider him as her nephew, but that was neither here nor there; magical ability did _not_ change the fact that Helen’s ‘Daniel’ was, at heart, a Mudblood.  But Helen shot her a furious look and snapped.  “Don’t call Daniel a Mudblood!  He’s _pureblood_ , from a proud family, _as_ you should already know!”

Merlin’s beard, she really believed that.  Maria shook her head.  “You didn’t answer my question, sister mine.  What do you intend to do now?”

“I’ll take him home, of course,” Helen replied, a fond smile crossing her face.  “He’s very stubborn, my Daniel, but Mummy will make him see sense soon.”

“Home?”  Maria hoped, fervently, that she was wrong, but…

Helen tisked at her.  “I’ll be taking Daniel home to England, Maria.  Much safer than staying here.  Hogsmeade, I think, for starters…no Muggles there.”

“And how do you intend to manage that when ‘Daniel’ doesn’t have any documentation?” Maria questioned, her voice turning to icy frost.  _She_ had no intentions of considering a _Mudblood_ as family.  _Daniel_ had been family… _this_ boy was nothing to her, nothing at all.  “And you won’t be able to get any either, Helen.  Not with a death certificate on file.”

Helen turned, an angry look on her face, but before she could respond, a wail rose around them…the ward alarm on the ‘nursery’.

* * * * *

He itched and tried to scratch, but the itch never went away, no matter how hard he scratched…he scratched so hard, he bled, and still he itched.  And not just in one place; he itched all over and his magic flopped weakly and it hurt and he wanted to _go home!_   He never itched at home, not like this and his magic was free to play with his baby sister and everything was _wrong_ here.  He sniffled, trying to hold back his wails…he didn’t want Mummy woman to come back; he wanted his Mommy and Daddy and baby sister.

But something else began to wail and he hunched down, covering his ears and whimpering.  It was loud and he itched and his magic hurt and his body hurt and it was _wrong, wrong, wrong!_   When Mummy woman and another woman came in, he couldn’t help it.

“I wanna go home!” he wailed, pounding his little fists against the floor.  “I want Mommy and Daddy and baby sistuh!”

Mummy woman swept him up, cooing at him, but he didn’t want _her_ , he wanted Mommy!  “Mummy’s here, Daniel, Mummy’s here.”

“And that,” the other woman observed, her voice so cold that the little boy shivered, “Is why Suppression Potions can’t be used long term.”  She walked over, studying him with an odd look in her eyes.  “You have to stop using them or he’ll get worse, Helen.”

“If I don’t use them, his magic will keep misbehaving,” Mummy woman retorted.

“And if you _don’t_ stop, you’ll have another dead ‘Daniel’ on your hands,” the cold woman spat.  “Magic cannot be suppressed like this, Helen.  Keep feeding him those potions and he won’t live long enough for you to have ‘Daniel’ back.”  Without waiting for a response, the cold woman left.

Mummy woman was angry, he could tell, and he whimpered again.  “I wanna go home,” he whispered.

“And so we shall, Daniel,” Mummy woman replied.  “We _will_ go home, Daniel, just as soon as Mummy gets your things together.”

* * * * *

She didn’t feed him the nasty tasting stuff that night and he soon felt his magic trickling around him, purring and making itself at home in his skin once more.  In spite of the wrongness, he giggled and let it out.  And when it came out, it murmured to him, like it had before baby sister was born, like it had when Daddy had introduced him to the stocky friendly man with a son the same age as he was.

He blinked back tears when the magic told him Mommy and Daddy were gone.  “Baby sister?” he asked anxiously.  He didn’t think he could bear it if baby sister was gone, too.

Gold light curled around him, pulsing gently.  The little boy smiled at the response.  “Baby sister here?”  At the correction, he scowled again.  Here but not…what was _that_ supposed to mean?  Did that mean that mean Mummy woman was keeping his baby sister away from him?

“No, Daniel, you mustn’t,” Mummy woman cried, picking him up and making the gold light disappear.  His magic shuddered at her touch and he shuddered too.

“Baby sister!” he declared, “Want baby sister now!”

Mummy woman rocked him, making him hiss loudly at her.  “Hush, now, baby.  You don’t _have_ a sister.  Mummy will have to lock up your magic if you don’t keep it in.”

Drink the nasty tasting stuff that made him itch and made his magic flop?  He didn’t want that…and his magic whispered that he could go home sooner if he didn’t make mean Mummy woman angry.  He didn’t understand, but he _did_ want to go home, so he crossed his arms and didn’t argue with mean Mummy woman who didn’t know his name and didn’t know he had a baby sister.

Mean Mummy woman sang a lullaby, but Lance refused to listen to it…she wasn’t listening to _him_ so he didn’t have to listen to _her_.  When she tucked him into bed and petted his hair, he almost hissed again, but his magic murmured warning.

“Good night, Daniel,” she cooed from the doorway and then left, closing the door behind her.

Lance got out of bed and crossed to the door, listening hard for mean Mummy woman to leave.  He pushed against the door and his magic wrapped around him, letting him see the _bad spell_ mean Mummy woman had put on the door.  The four-year-old scowled as much as he could…mean Mummy woman would know if he tried to go home.  With a sigh and after a slight prod from his magic, he climbed back into bed.

“Please, Aslan, watch over my Mommy and Daddy and baby sister,” he prayed after a few minutes of sulking.  “Tell them where I am, so I can go home soon.”  He sniffled and his magic curled around him, feeling a bit like Mommy when he was sick and nothing seemed to go right.  But if Mommy and Daddy were gone, who would take care of him…of baby sister?  He was big, but he wasn’t big enough to be like Daddy…tall and strong and wise.  But Daddy would want him to look after his baby sister, so he would… _he would!_

A sense of Someone there made him look up and his eyes widened in delight at the sight of the Lion.  “Peace, Son of Adam,” the great Lion rumbled.

“Aslan,” Lance cried, scrambling out of the bed and ending up clinging to the Lion’s mane.  “You came, You came.”  He buried his face in the Lion’s fur and tried very hard not to cry.  “Will You take me home?”

The Lion settled Himself, curling around the distraught little boy.  “Soon, Son of Adam,” he rumbled quietly.  “I have set things in motion, but you must be patient a little while longer.”

Lance clung even harder to the Lion, but he had to know.  “Are Mommy and Daddy really gone?” he asked.

The Lion’s paw stroked him gently.  “I am sorry, little one.  I called them home some time ago.”  And the Lion’s grief was just as great as Lance’s, for He rumbled and tucked the sobbing little boy close.  There was no order to hush, no prodding to finish quickly, no remark that ‘real men didn’t cry’ or any other such nonsense from the Lion…just a calm, steady presence that mourned the loss of Lance’s parents alongside him.

* * * * *

No one interrupted the pair; indeed, had Helen looked, she would have seen precisely what she expected to see…her four-year-old ‘son’ tucked in bed and sleeping peacefully.  The Lion holding the young Wild Mage close, guarding his sorrow, waited until the young boy had cried himself out and fallen asleep.  A Lion’s rumble stirred the air as His gaze turned from the child to the woman.  He mourned Helen’s husband and son even more than she did, for He knew them well; knew them even better than Helen did, just as He also knew Helen better than she knew herself.

When He had called the young Son of Adam home, He had also stretched out His paw to the young one’s parents; both had rejected His efforts, blaming each other, blaming themselves, blaming anyone and everyone that they could.  And then, He had called the father home, leaving Helen all alone.  Again, He had reached out to her, through her family, through her neighbors, even through a Daughter of Eve who’d been brave enough to walk right up to Helen and tell her that He loved her.  All had been rejected, all had been sent away, as Helen sank into depression, turning her son into an idol.

He still heard Tash’s laughter as the dark, fallen one arranged the car accident and the crossing of two paths.  His Father had permitted Tash’s actions, but Tash himself had forgotten several details in his planning…a child’s faith and that child’s plaintive cry, ringing loud above all that Tash had done, pleading for help.  Had also forgotten that Justice delayed was _not_ Justice denied.  Aslan cradled the sleeping child, pleased that the Son of Adam had held firm, in spite of every attempt, every enticement to surrender and give in.

His attention turned back to Helen and He considered His next efforts on her behalf; she was, after all, one of His Father’s creations and therefore very dear to Him.  She would soon be faced with a choice…surrender her ‘son’ or have him taken from her.  He knew what she would choose and the consequences that would follow; He regretted the choice she would make, but only when she had hit rock bottom – and was willing to _admit_ her failures – would she be open to His words.  And she had already had a great many chances to give the child back to his family voluntarily.

The little boy in His paws shifted restlessly, his physical hurts from the car accident as yet unseen to.  The Lion lowered His head and nuzzled the child; the boy snuggled further into His fur.  The Lion looked up again, His eyes seeing the boy’s sister and uncle as they mourned for the child in His paws.  Soon, He would wipe their tears away and restore their brother and nephew to them.

Soon.

* * * * *

Helen hummed to herself as she finished the last of the conjuring work.  In front of her were two magically created identification cards that would allow herself and little Daniel to go back to England.  Maria, she knew, would be horrified, but, really, the best way to ensure Daniel’s safety was to travel on that Muggle flying craft.  Portkeys were out of the question, what with Maria’s point that Daniel had no papers, nothing to prove that he was, as she knew, _her_ son.

But the Muggles would be easy to fool, easy to confund and slip past.  It would be simplicity itself to trick them into believing she had those Muggle passports and airplune tickets.  And once Daniel was in England, she could take him to Hogsmeade and they could live out their lives in happiness and peace.  She smiled at the image of her Daniel playing and bringing her flowers, just as he had done when he was little.  She _would_ protect Daniel…no matter what.

“Soon, baby,” she whispered.  “Soon we’ll be safe, I promise.”

Soon…

 

[3] A derogatory reference to Muggleborns, arising from the theory that Muggle blood ‘taints’ magical blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to me! Sorry, couldn't help myself. Parents are in town, I took a day off work, and my birthday is on a Friday which gives _me_ a long weekend. Yay!


	9. I Heard a Stranger Call My Name

The good news?  Lance was alive or at least he had been when he was pulled from the Impala by the mystery witch.

The bad news?  They had _no_ idea who the witch was or where she’d taken the teenager afterwards.

The even worse news?  Glynnis was hardly the type to inspire much confidence, so Roy and Giles were left spinning their wheels as they tried to solve a missing persons case in the middle of a manslaughter investigation.

Giles tracked down all the wizards known to live in that particular area and they went down the list, using what few details Glynnis had been able to give them to mark names off the list.  In the end, they were left with three names, which they’d have to investigate themselves, since no one except them believed that Lance was still alive.  Even so, the two men were determined to get it done and find the young man, dead or alive.

Then Sergeant Gamboli called the pair into his office, expression grave.  “Sir?” Roy questioned, feeling uneasy with his Sarge’s serious mien.

“We just got a tip in that an airliner leaving for Britain today is going to be carrying a load of smuggled weapons.”  The Sergeant pinned his two rather oddball cops with a stern look.  “I need you two to supervise the uniforms as they check every last _millimeter_ of that aircraft.”

Roy’s confusion was clear.  “If it’s going overseas, isn’t that plane under International Jurisdiction?”

A nod of agreement.  “Very good, Detective Lane,” Gamboli acknowledged.  “Request comes from our counterparts at the Customs Office…they aren’t equipped to check the entire airplane before the bigwigs start throwing tantrums over the plane getting delayed.  We’re to provide extra manpower and fresh sets of eyes…that’ll be you two.”

Neither man was altogether pleased with the assignment, particularly when they were trying to find a missing sixteen-year-old, but they couldn’t exactly _say_ that, so both men acknowledged their orders and headed out to their desks.

“Can one of us handle this?” Giles asked softly, his implication clear.  If _one_ of them could handle the aircraft, the _other_ could keep looking for Lance.

Roy sighed, shaking his head.  “Sergeant Gamboli would kill _both_ of us; I’m still on thin ice after Watson, even _with_ my brother’s and your division’s help afterwards.”  Regret shone.  “Sorry partner, but we’re stuck.”

Giles’ shoulders slumped, but he nodded.  “Understood,” he murmured.

* * * * *

Roy was even _more_ annoyed when it turned out that the Federal Customs Department had only wanted uniforms and two Guns ‘n’ Gangs sized distractions for the delayed passengers.  He and Giles ended up on placation duty…keeping the increasingly anxious and angry passengers calm.  The irritation level of the room that the Customs Department had offered up for the passengers to use rose rapidly, leaving Roy wishing he could wash his hands of the entire affair and walk away, but his Sarge would skin him alive if he did that.

A businessman accosted Roy as he leaned against the wall, idly calculating how much longer this was going to take as well as the odds of finding a kid no one else believed was alive.  “Is this going to be much longer?” the businessman demanded sharply.  “I have an important meeting in London that I’m going to be late for.”

Roy arched a brow at the angry man.  “Sir, I’m not at liberty to say how much longer it will take to finish checking your aircraft.”

The businessman harrumphed.  “Well, when can I contact my office?  I need to let them know I’m going to be late.”

“I can relay your request, sir, but the Customs Department is very busy checking the aircraft at the moment.  No communication devices can be used in this area, but once the aircraft is fully checked out and ready to go, I’m sure you’ll have an opportunity to contact whomever you need to.”  Roy gave the businessman his best vapid, ‘I’m just doing my job’ smile.

The unhappy man stalked away and Roy bit back a snicker at a few of the words drifting back to him.  Well, if _he_ had to be annoyed and inconvenienced, he might as well spread the joy, such as it was.  With an internal sigh, Roy decided to make a quick roam of the crowd, see if there were any obvious troublemakers who were getting twitchy over the risk to their ‘product’.

* * * * *

Lance frowned, unhappy that Mummy woman was insisting on carrying him like a _baby_.  The big machines with wings made him laugh inside, how could they fly, when they couldn’t twist and flitter through the air like _he_ could?  Maybe the big round things under the wings made them fly?  They did make a really loud sound, one that he could hear, even from inside.  That would be good if those round things could make the stiff, straight wings fly so _everyone_ could fly; it was _fun_ to fly, but not as fun as baby sister and Mommy and Daddy.

Mummy woman’s smile was fake, very fake – he could tell, but it seemed no one else could; they’d been permitted through all the places where there were Muggle Aurors…couldn’t they see that he didn’t belong with mean Mummy woman?

Mummy woman would show them pieces of blank paper, with a soft whisper of magic behind her voice and they would nod, as if she’d shown them something real and wave Mummy woman through.  Since Mummy woman never let him down, he was taken through too.  He would have screamed, but Mummy woman had threatened to make him drink the icky stuff that made him itch and his magic flop.

Lance was beginning to think he’d have to take the chance and scream anyway, when a voice came out of the ceiling and made all the people go to a small room.  He tried to squirm away once Mummy woman stopped, but she held him even tighter, her eyes afraid.  _He_ wasn’t afraid, he knew the Lion was helping him…now if only she would put him _down!_

“Down?” he asked, trying to be nice.  If she thought he was behaving, maybe she would let him down?

“No, baby,” she whispered.  “There’s so many people here, Daniel.  I don’t want to lose you, my angel.”

“Down?” he asked again, pretending he hadn’t heard her.  “Want to walk,” he pleaded.

“Soon, Daniel,” she promised, “Soon, we’ll be home and you can walk all you want to, Mummy promises.”

“Want to walk _now_ ,” he retorted, mimicking his baby sister at her _most_ insistent.  If he could _only_ get down, he could find her, he just _knew_ it.

“Shhh, Daniel, shhh,” she hushed him.  “Be patient love.”

Then his magic surged and he turned in Mummy woman’s arms to see someone his magic recognized.  Lance frowned; it wasn’t Daddy, so how did his magic know the tall man?  A whisper reached his ears, giving him the man’s name.  And he knew, without his magic saying anything else, that it was time to be as loud as he could be.  It was _his_ turn to reach out; the Lion had set everything else in place, everything but him.

So the little boy gathered up all the air he could and yelled, as loudly as possible, “Roy!”

* * * * *

The yell had Roy jerking around in a instant, his eyes landing on the woman and the squirming, struggling boy in her arms.  “Roy!” the boy yelled again, his struggles turning wild as the woman tried to cover his mouth.

The detective strode over, instincts jangling at the fear in the woman’s eyes as he approached.  “Is something wrong here?” he inquired, outwardly polite; inwardly, he weighed the woman’s expression and the way she was now holding the child in her arms.  She was using her size and leverage to squeeze the boy so tight he couldn’t yell anymore and couldn’t squirm without risking being half strangled.

“I’m _dreadfully_ sorry, officer,” the woman simpered, “Daniel isn’t usually so unruly.  Nothing’s wrong, I promise.”  She batted her eyes a little, but Roy ignored the attempt to flirt.

Turning his attention to the child, Roy bit back a gasp at the brilliant sapphire eyes that gazed back; the boy looked like a miniature version of Lance.  “So what’s your name, sport?” he asked, winking as he added, “Seeing as you already know _my_ name.”

“This is Daniel,” the woman replied for the boy, one hand covering the child’s mouth before _he_ could respond.  Gray and blue eyes narrowed at this; the boy _very_ unhappy and Roy becoming even more suspicious.  “I’ll make sure Daniel knows not to bother you again, sir,” the woman promised, flashing a glare at the boy.  “I do believe it’s about time for your medicine, isn’t it, Daniel?”

Roy put the ‘medicine’ issue aside for the moment, as he shifted to the woman and snapped, “I believe I asked your son what his name is, not _you_ , and he can’t answer me with a hand over his mouth.  Now, I’d like an answer…from _him_.”  The Guns ‘n’ Gangs officer crossed his arms, giving the woman a warning glare, one that was echoed by the nearby passengers, who were _also_ getting more than a bit suspicious over the woman’s behavior towards her son.

With a great show of reluctance, the woman pulled her hand away from the boy’s mouth.  “Now, go on Daniel,” she coached sweetly, “Tell the nice officer your name and make Mummy proud of you.”  Her voice dropped into what Roy labeled ‘threat’ as she finished.

The boy hissed at her, so low that only Roy and the woman heard him.  Then he looked at Roy.  “My name Lance,” he introduced himself.  “Not Daniel.”  He paused to stick his tongue out at the furious, paling woman.  “I have baby sister, but she not here and Mummy woman keeps saying I don’t have baby sister and I want to go home now, Roy.”

Roy’s hand dropped to his sidearm, his eyes going so hard that even his brother would have taken a step back at the look in them.  “You need to put the boy down now, ma’am,” he ordered, voice cold.  Around the woman, the other passengers were beginning to look outraged, fully on _Roy’s_ side in this conflict.

He saw it out of the corner of his eye, the tip of her wand, right before she murmured, “ _Confundo_ **(4)**.”  Roy had a sense of the spell radiating outwards, right before it hit him.  He felt a surge of _something_ and shuddered as it hit.  “I’m sure that’s not necessary, officer,” the woman remarked, her voice level and so reasonable that Roy couldn’t help but agree with her and he took his hand from his sidearm; the passengers around them were nodding along with the woman…nothing wrong here, nothing to be concerned over…just a child and his mother…he should just walk away…forget what he’d seen…

Then a flash of violet pulsed from a bracelet that Alanna Calvin had given him for his birthday – an engraved runic bracelet that she’d made herself, carved as a both a gift and as her final project for her Ancient Runes class.  A protection bracelet, designed to be used _by_ a techie, _in_ the tech world…only the bracelet’s owner could see its magic work, could see the warning light, and feel the subtle vibration of the bracelet turning back any attacking magic.

Roy shook his head, feeling the fuzziness and confusion fade as rage took over at the hopeless despair in the boy’s…in _Lance’s_ eyes.  He forced himself to keep his hand off his sidearm; pulling it here and now would be counterproductive, but he _did_ drop his left hand down to his magical phone to trigger an alert.  Then, much as he hated it, he stepped away from the pair, though his eyes stayed on them, narrow and angry.

The woman beamed after him, believing her spell had worked, and pulled a bottle from her carry-on bag.  “Now, Daniel,” she scolded the boy, “That was a very naughty thing you did, very naughty indeed and Mummy will have to punish you for that.”  Roy stiffened, praying that Giles would show up _fast_ or he’d have to do this alone, regardless of the fact that she had magic and he didn’t.  “Mummy warned you, Daniel, and you didn’t listen, did you?”

“No,” Lance pleaded, trying to squirm away again.  “Just want to go home…lemme go.”

“Roy?”  Giles, right at his back…thank _God_.

Without taking his eyes off the woman and the boy, Roy growled, “The kid in her arms, she called him one name and he used a different one; when I told her to put him down, she used magic on me and all the other passengers.”  Onasi hissed angrily.  “Giles…he said his name was Lance and he _looks_ like Lance…well, sort of.”

“Like Lance would have looked at that age,” his partner muttered back, his own attention on the woman, his shoulders bunching as he tensed for action.  Roy nodded.  “Could be a De-Aging Potion then, but what’s she trying to do now?”

“Don’t know, but he’s fighting like the dickens to get away,” the detective observed.  “See how no one else is even _looking?_ ”

“Yeah, I do,” Giles acknowledged.  “Stay here, Roy; that bracelet of yours isn’t meant to handle more than one spell at a time.”

So saying, Giles moved around his partner and descended on the woman, his eyes flashing in barely contained rage; rage that Roy shared.  “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me,” he ordered, not bothering to hide his opinion: contempt and disgust for her and her actions.  When the woman made to argue, Giles growled, his voice dropping down an octave in his anger.  “Now.”

The other passengers looked on disapprovingly, but none of them was about to interfere with the angry cop in their midst…they might miss their flight if they did that.  So it was that the woman and her ‘son’ were taken into custody without so much as a peep from the passengers watching.

* * * * *

As soon as all four were in the interview room, the woman screeched, “You have no right to do this to me; don’t you know who I am?”

“Do I look like I care?” Giles demanded roughly.  “Especially after you used magic on my _partner_.  Now put the boy down, before I do it _for_ you.”

Roy smirked from his own position, light gray eyes dancing with glee at the woman’s expression.  “Nice try, by the way,” he drawled.  “It’s just too bad for you that it didn’t work.”

Her expression turned astonished.  “A _Muggle_ resisted my spell?” she demanded, right before she blanched as her own words registered.  Attacking Muggles with magic _was_ illegal, after all.  Wide, fearful eyes swept to a seething Giles, then she drew herself up haughtily.  “I am Helen Smith of the House of Smith; you have _no_ right to hold me and even _less_ right to demand that I release my _son_ into you and your _Muggle’s_ care.”  A sneer appeared on her face as she spoke and her right hand twitched, just a little.  In her arms, the boy tried to struggle, but she was still holding him too tightly for him to fight her much.

Rage shone in Giles’ eyes.  “I don’t _care_ who you are or who you _claim_ this boy is…put him down _now_.”

But as he reached down for his wand, her right hand flicked and her wand dropped into it, aiming almost at once at Giles.  “Stay back,” she screeched, “You cannot have my son!”

“Lemme go!” Lance yelled, twisting and fighting now that Smith was being forced to hold onto him with just one arm.  “Want to go home!  Want baby sister!”  Gold flared around the child, leaving the two men in absolutely _no_ doubt as to who he was.  “Wrong!  World is wrong, make it _right!_ ”

But Giles, now at wand-point, could do nothing to help.  Roy, similarly, couldn’t pull his gun with Lance in the way.  “He’s _not_ your son,” Roy spat, trying to get Smith to move the wand off Giles and onto him.  “And you have _no_ right to keep him away from his family.”  If he could get her to take her wand off Giles for just _one second_ …

Smith sneered.  “They let him go out in that Muggle deathtrap; they _lost_ their right to _my son_.  I won’t let you take my son from me again…I won’t let _your_ kind rip my family apart again.”  Her eyes were wild, but she kept her wand on Giles.

Gold intensified, starting to glow brightly enough that Roy squinted, wondering what Lance was up to.  “No hurt Roy and Giles!” the boy yelled, gaining wide eyes from both men.  “Lemme go!  I want to go home!  Want world to be right again!”

“Hush, Daniel; Mummy will protect you, darling.  Mummy won’t let the Muggles and Aurors hurt you.”  Smith’s wand firmed, a spell glowing at its tip and Roy braced himself, wondering how the _heck_ he was going to save the kid once Giles was down.

“Ma’am, put the wand down now,” Giles ordered, somehow calm despite his situation.

“No hurt my family!” Lance howled, glowing even brighter as his magic flared, very close to being totally out of control.  He fought, but still couldn’t get free.  “No let you!  No make world wronger!”

Roy saw the instant the woman finally tipped over the side into insanity; her wild eyes took on a crazed glint and the wand’s glow turned a vivid blue.  “No, no, _no_ ,” she screeched, looking desperate and trapped.  “ _Redu…_ ”

The shout of denial building up was cut off as gold _blazed_ , roaring like a lion, and Lance _blurred_.  A gryphon cub yowled challenge and slashed at the restraining arm around his torso, breaking Smith’s concentration.  She yelped and let go, but the cub wasn’t satisfied with that.  Little wings bore the small animal aloft and he swiped at her wand arm, drawing blood and making her drop her wand.  Giles dove at the woman, wrestling her down and getting her hands behind her back as the gryphon cub flew awkwardly to Roy, landing on his shoulders and purring as he curled up on the back of the detective’s neck, talons hooking into his jacket.

Roy would have liked to focus on the kid, but he had to back his partner up and _fast_ ; his sidearm cleared its holster and Lane moved up beside his partner, aiming his weapon at the witch as Onasi yanked first one arm, then the other behind Smith’s back.  She howled insults, struggling to get free as Giles got the cuffs on.

“No, no, _no!_ ” she wailed, tears flowing down her cheeks.  “Daniel, come back to Mummy…Mummy will keep you safe, Mummy will protect you.”

A scornful **squerr-rrrr** was her only reply from the gryphon cub on Roy’s neck; a feathered tail lashed against the side of his head as the gryphon growled.  The detective bit out his own reply.  “He’s not your son, lady, and his name’s not Daniel.”  Of his partner, he asked, “You got her?”

“Yeah,” Giles confirmed, his eyes angry.  “I got her.  At _this_ point, she’s on the hook for kidnapping and attempting to murder an Auror…and that’s just for starters.  Get the kid out of here, Roy, and call Parker.”

“You need backup,” Roy protested, though he holstered his sidearm again, feeling useless…his partner had almost been murdered and he hadn’t been able to _do anything_.

Giles looked up at the other man and the gryphon cub perched on his shoulders and neck; the gryphon was beginning to groom himself, looking pleased with the turn of events.  “Roy, she’s cuffed, I’m okay, and we need Parker here ASAP.”  When Roy looked about to protest, Giles shook his head firmly.  “Roy…the memorial service is _tomorrow_ …they’ve suffered long enough…now: Go.  Call.  Parker.”

“Give him back!” Smith screeched, her eyes feral and desperate.  “You can’t take my son away again, you _can’t_.  He’s mine, he’s _my son_ ; those Muggles have _no_ right to him, they can’t have him, I won’t _let_ you!”

She tried to lurch up, but Giles yanked her down again.  “He’s not yours,” the Auror snapped angrily.  “He’s not your son…he never was and he _has_ a family.”  He looked back up at his partner.  “Roy, for the love of Merlin, get him out of here and go call Parker.”

Roy bit his lip, but didn’t protest any further.  Instead, he headed out of the room and, once outside, gingerly, carefully, worked the cub’s talons free from his jacket and coaxed the little animal off his neck and into his arms.  The gryphon nestled into his grip, **churr** -ing contentedly as he shifted to be against the detective’s chest, his little head right above the lean man’s heart.

“Easy, little guy,” Roy murmured.  “I got ya…and you’re going home, I promise.”

Sapphire eagle eyes looked upwards, a rumbling, cat-like purr making its way out of the tiny creature.

Roy blew out his breath, swallowing hard at the oh-so-young gaze of the baby gryphon.  “Your uncle’s gonna flip,” he muttered, right before he went to call his brother.

 

[4] Latin for ‘to confuse’


	10. Wrong Becomes Right

Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite that simple; Roy had no sooner gotten out of the interview room when he spotted the Customs agent they were working with heading in his direction.  The woman wasn’t close enough to see what…or rather _who_ …Roy had in his hands, but she _was_ close enough that Roy couldn’t duck into the next interview room and pretend he hadn’t seen her.  And she looked mad; Roy gulped and debated his options.  Glancing down at the gryphon, he moved the cub down and to the side.  “Grab onto my belt,” he hissed.

Puzzled eagle eyes blinked at him, accompanied by a questioning **squer-ar?**

“Quick, grab onto my belt and get behind me,” Roy ordered, eyeing the approaching agent and trying not to panic.  “Before anyone sees you like that.”

Eagle eyes followed Roy’s gaze and narrowed, a low growl emerging from the cub and the gryphon’s tail lashing angrily.

“Now,” Roy demanded.  “She doesn’t know about magic…we can’t let her see you.”

When he said that, he got a startled squeak and the cub finally obeyed; Roy restrained a gulp as those sharp talons hooked onto the belt and lightly scraped against his back.  The gryphon carefully scooted to the side until he was nestled at the small of Roy’s back.  Roy had just enough time to resettle his jacket and paste a smile on for the agent as she came right up to him, scowling.

“Where’s the passenger you and your partner dragged off?” the agent barked.

Roy jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the interview room.  “Giles has got her in there, but she’s not going anywhere,” Roy informed the agent crisply.  “She managed to get a weapon past security and pulled it on us when we tried to take the kid with her away so we could interview him.”

“Interview him?” the Customs Agent inquired, her expression skeptical.

“Yeah,” Roy confirmed, pretending not to notice the skepticism.  “She gave us one name, he gave us a different one; we’re trying to nail down who’s telling the truth.”  He sidestepped as the agent moved towards the second interview room.  “Look, we’ve got it under control; sorry about bailing on your people though.”

“I’ve had training in interviewing children, I can help,” the agent offered briskly; Roy blinked at the abrupt about-face in her attitude.  “I don’t imagine you’ve run across too many minor witnesses, Detective Lane.”

“More than you’d think,” Roy countered.  Far, far more than he liked, that was for sure.  “Look, I appreciate the offer, I really do, but so far, the kid’s been more comfortable around me ‘n’ Giles than any ladies.”  He shrugged helplessly, leaving out the small detail about Lance actually _knowing_ the two officers and letting the agent draw her own conclusions.

Which she was…in spades.  Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightened, and she looked to be on the cusp of charging into the first interview room to give the – she assumed – abusive mother a piece of her mind.  Roy spread his hands, giving another little shrug and praying the agent would buy his hasty story.  Against his back, he felt a few little thumps as the gryphon’s wings stirred his jacket.  _Just hang in there, kiddo…just a few minutes more…I hope._

After another minute, the agent stepped back.  “All right then.  We’ve finished checking the airplane and we’re boarding the passengers.  This…person…is under arrest?”

“Absolutely,” Roy promised, nodding grimly.  “We’ve got this; sorry we couldn’t be more help with your search.”

He got a pleasant smile, but he could tell it was more polite than anything else.  “Just take care of that woman, Detective Lane.”  Her eyes flashed, but not at him.  “I hate people who think they can hurt children and get away with it.”

“I hear you,” Roy agreed, borrowing one of Parker’s favorite lines.  “And we will, you have my word on that.”  Tiny lion paws found purchase on Roy’s back and Roy buried his wince as little claws dug into his back.

As the agent left, Giles emerged from the interview room, looking just as tired as Roy felt.  He watched the agent leave, then turned towards Roy as the latter let out a soft hiss of pain.  “Roy?”

“He’s clinging to my belt; can you get him off?” Roy requested, biting back another hiss of pain.  The little gryphon’s back paws were digging in harder as the cub struggled to keep from slipping.

Giles blinked, then lifted Roy’s jacket out of the way and slid one hand under the gryphon’s chest, resting the other hand on the animal’s back.  “Easy there, let’s not make Roy bleed too much, okay?”  Roy breathed out in relief as the gryphon’s claws retracted, the little animal making a squeak of apology.  “Good, that’s good,” Giles soothed, lifting up carefully.  “I’ve got you; you can let go of Roy’s belt now.”  An anxious cheep met that order, but Giles persisted.  “Yep, I’ve got you, little one.  I won’t let you fall, but you’ve got to let go of Roy’s belt now.”

Roy felt the weight leave his belt and sighed quietly in relief.  He twisted around, watching as Lance snuggled up against Giles, innocent blue eagle eyes blinking at him.  “That was close,” Roy muttered.

Giles nodded, understanding.  “She didn’t see him?”

Roy shook his head.  “We got lucky,” he admitted.  “That’s why I had him on my belt…no time to get him out of sight, but we’re good for awhile now…I talked her into thinking he was nervous around women right now.”  Looking back down at the gryphon cub, he added, “Okay, I still need to call Parker, but what the heck do we tell him?  How’d Lance end up as a four-year-old?  And how in the blazes do we get him back to sixteen?”

“Better question,” Giles mumbled, looking down at the cub.  “How come he recognized us and what do we do if he _doesn’t_ recognize Parker?”

“Huh?”

Giles looked around, then tugged Roy into the second interview room.  Lance was deposited on the table, something the cub didn’t appreciate, for he gave a soft hiss, then flitted up and off the table to fly over to Roy.  Roy caught the cub, marveling at the light weight and doing his best to ignore the soft, baby animal cuteness radiating from the mythical creature.  Lance **squrr** -ed to himself as he curled up, his tail wrapping around Roy’s arm as he snuggled in and rested his head against Roy’s chest.

The wizard paced a second, growling something under his breath and looking annoyed.  “I found two potions in her carry-on,” he announced after a minute or so.  “One’s a Suppression Potion, the other’s a long-lasting De-Aging Potion.”

“Are they illegal?” Roy asked, half-hopeful, half-dreading the answer.

The other shook his head.  “A Suppression Potion is only illegal if it’s used on a Wild Mage…but they’re so _rare_ that it’s almost a non-issue.”

Before he could continue, the gryphon **squerr** -ed and huddled closer to Roy, his wings fluttering and fluffing in clear alarm; his fur puffed out and Roy yelped as the little animal’s talons closed around his fingers a little too hard.  Even so, the cop took the hint.  “What happens if a Wild Mage takes a Suppression Potion?” he questioned as he worked his fingers free from the gryphon’s talons, wincing at the scratches the frightened cub had made.

Giles swallowed hard, his expression turning both fearful and horrified.  “If the potion’s used too long on a Wild Mage…they die.  They can’t live with their magic suppressed like that.  The stronger they are…the worse it is for them.”  His gaze fixed on the gryphon.  “When he changes back…I need a clump of his hair, so we can figure out how long he was on it.”

“And the De-Aging Potion?” Roy questioned, forcing sudden homicidal thoughts away.

“Long lasting, so he’s stuck until it runs out,” Giles reported glumly.  “But that’s not the kicker.”  At Roy’s arched brow, he added, “The potion means his memory reverted back to his four-year-old self, too…he shouldn’t have been _able_ to recognize us _at all_ , much less know our names.”

Roy’s eyes went wide and he looked between the huddled cub and his partner.  “So, he might not recognize Parker?”  A grim nod.  The Guns ‘n’ Gangs cop bit back an assortment of swear words.  “Oh, this is _so_ not good,” he settled on.  “Anything else?” he inquired, rather weakly.

Giles frowned, pulling his wand and waving it over the cub in a diagnostic pattern.  He sighed at the results.

“What?” Roy demanded, resisting the sudden urge to pull the little cub closer and comfort him.  “What’s wrong?”

A shake of the head.  “He’s still banged up from the accident,” Giles reported quietly.  “Wizards are tough, but I’d wager that accident caused enough injury that he would have had to go to the hospital regardless…”

“Only she didn’t take him,” Roy hissed angrily, running one hand over Lance’s wings in an attempt to offer some of the comfort he’d been denied since his accident.  The detective blinked in surprise as the cub started purring and leaning into the petting.

“No, she didn’t,” Giles agreed.  “Some part of her knows that he isn’t her son, so she’s covering herself as much as she can…that includes avoiding the hospital…at least that’s _my_ guess.”  He sighed again.  “Also got a few memory charms that he’s managed to burn through.”

Roy didn’t have to be an SRU member to guess at what had happened.  “She wanted a replacement for her son,” he observed coldly, getting a nod from Giles.  “So she tried to take his memories away…but why suppress his magic?”

Giles was silent for close to a minute, studying the small gryphon cub still clinging to Roy.  In a soft, almost awed voice, he whispered, “Because she was trying to keep him.”

It took a second or two, but Roy put the pieces together.  “His magic… _that’s_ how he recognized us?”

“I’d bet my wand on it,” Giles confirmed.  “I’ve never even _heard_ of something like this before…maybe he really _is_ a Wild Mage…”

Awkward and trying not to drop the gryphon cub, Roy dug his phone out.  “Okay, ready or not, here we go,” he muttered as he hit the speed dial for Ed’s phone.  As the phone rang, he bounced through a dozen hasty plans and finally settled on an old standby…don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.  “Hey, Ed?  It’s Roy.  We need Parker down at the airport.”

“For what?” Ed demanded, irritation and anger mixing.

Roy didn’t have time for it…not now, anyway.  “Look, Ed, we’ve got a situation and we need Parker’s help with it, okay?”

* * * * *

Ed was going to _kill_ his brother, he really was.  Bad enough that Greg had just lost another member of his family – this time permanently – but now Roy was demanding that Greg come to the airport to deal with a ‘situation’?

“Roy, I don’t _care_ what’s going on there,” Ed spat, “Deal with it yourself!”

A exasperated sigh.  “Ed, we _need_ Parker here, as soon as possible.”  As Ed drew breath for another retort, Roy cut in.  “Please, Ed, just, for once in your life, _trust_ me.  I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

The team leader stared from his spot outside the briefing room at his boss, on duty, but so close to breaking that Ed could almost _see_ the cracks beginning to form.  “If you’re wrong, I’ll kill you myself,” Ed threatened, without an ounce of playfulness in his voice…this time, he _meant_ it.  “If you break him,” Ed growled, letting the threat hang.

“I won’t.”  Rock solid confidence in that voice, in Roy’s tone.

“Fine,” Ed snarled.  “We’ll be there in an hour.”  Without waiting for a response, he hung up and stalked into the briefing room.

Dull brown eyes looked up.  “What did Roy want?” Greg asked listlessly, his very _lack_ of interest and enthusiasm almost a physical blow to his team leader.  Greg was sinking fast and nothing Ed or the rest of the team did seemed to help.

“Us, at the airport, ASAP,” Ed summed up.

“No thanks,” Greg mumbled, letting himself slump in his seat.

He hated this, hated every bit of it.  “Sorry, Greg; Roy wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

The team leader was careful to ignore the pain that ran across his boss’s face, the agony of trying to get back to business as usual when it felt like the world was ending.  After a minute or two, Greg pushed himself up, pasting a completely and utterly fake smile on his face.  “Okay, Eddie…let’s go then.”

* * * * *

Why on Earth Roy needed _him_ – and yes, he’d heard almost every word of Ed’s hissed conversation with his brother, despite how much he’d been trying to _not_ hear…his ‘team sense’ being off was starting to affect his control again – was beyond Greg, but he was having a hard time finding a reason to care.  Having a hard time finding a reason to care about a lot of things, actually.  He cared about Alanna, cared about his team, but beyond that, life seemed to have dried up and disappeared when he wasn’t looking.  Or maybe it had burned right along with his nephew…yes, that was probably it.

He let Eddie drive; he hadn’t driven since his nephew’s accident and fully intended to keep avoiding that particular activity for as long as he could manage it.  When they reached the airport, he let Eddie take the lead and tried to avoid the memories of the last time he’d been here…when he’d tried his best to talk another grieving father down and when Agent Semple had been stopped by Wilkins…his mind shied away from the memory of another fallen friend.

Despite everything his team was doing, he wasn’t getting better and he knew it, but he wasn’t sure he cared.  The memorial service was scheduled, the manslaughter case against the drunk driver was moving forward…everything seemed to be moving forward except him.  His nightmares were haunted by the sight of his car on fire, the phantom screams he couldn’t help but imagine as his nephew fought to survive…fought and failed.  The image was there every time he closed his eyes, taunting him with his failures, his past, anytime he’d screwed up on a call, and his stupid, foolish decision to let his nephew learn how to drive…if he hadn’t, Lance would still be alive…

“Roy, what do you want?” Eddie growled, his stance angry and rigid, indignation only just below the surface.

They’d arrived; Greg looked up, noting the nervous expression on Roy’s face, but uninterested in figuring out its cause.  He walked up, joining Eddie, but unwilling to add anything to the conversation.

Roy’s gaze fell on Greg and Parker stared back, letting the deadness of his expression show.  The other man gulped a bit, then turned to lead them further into the Customs office.  When neither Greg nor Ed followed, he looked back.  “We’re borrowing two interview rooms, but we’ve only got another hour or so before Customs wants them back…they found a shipment of drugs on one of the International flights about twenty minutes ago.”

“So take whoever you’ve got in there out and get them to the station,” Ed groused.  “What do you need _us_ here for?”

The Guns ‘n’ Gangs officer stiffened.  “Look, just come on, okay?”

A sparkle of interest entered Greg’s eyes and he moved forward, following the other man.  Roy was hiding something, but what?  What was worth hiding at this point?  It didn’t take long to reach the two rooms and Greg felt his brows go up involuntarily at the female screeching coming from one room.  Roy glanced back and Greg tilted his head at the room in silent question.  Roy shook his head as the screeching increased in volume; Giles exited the room, looking wrung out.

“Well?” Roy inquired, a wariness under the question.

“She’s too busy screaming at me to make any sense,” Giles replied, running one hand through his hair with a deep sigh.  “I’ll have to wait until I can get her back to the Auror Division to do anything more…too much magic use here and I’ll trip the Ministry sensors.”

“You caught a witch trying to fly on a tech airplane?” Ed asked over Greg’s shoulder, sounding incredulous.

Roy and Giles turned, both looking wary and with something lurking in their eyes that Greg couldn’t identify.  “She had to fly,” Giles explained.  “Only way she could get away with what she was going to do.”

“Which was?” Greg inquired without thinking…he wasn’t interested; he _wasn’t_.

“Kidnapping a minor,” Roy whispered, wariness growing, but Greg wasn’t sure _why_ he was so wary and nervous.

After all, it wasn’t like Greg would _know_ the minor child, so why were _both_ men looking as if they were about to do something neither one of them was completely sure of.  He looked between them, his dead emotions giving way to a touch of his own nervousness.

“Okay,” Ed demanded, crossing his arms.  “What’s going on?”  He glared at the partners, letting his glare do the talking for him…he was _done_ waiting for his brother and Giles to get to the point.

Both men swung to Ed, their expressions cringing in exactly the same way.  Another thread of interest skated through Greg.  What was making them _both_ cringe like that?  After a moment, Giles ran his hand through his hair again.  “It’s a bit of a long story, but how ‘bout we just skip to the end, yes?”

“The end?” Greg asked warily.  “And what would the end be?”

He wasn’t expecting that their response would be a single glance at each other and then grabbing him, hauling him to the next interview room, and shoving him inside.  The door clicked shut behind him and he heard Ed’s opening outraged bellow right before his world compressed down to an excited squeak from the table.

On the table, a small brunet gryphon pushed himself up, wings spreading wide and his tail feathers flaring open in excitement.  Greg felt his jaw drop as the animal leapt off the table, his wings catching the air and his cheeping filling Greg’s ears.  His arms came up automatically, catching the joyous gryphon cub and pulling him in close.  If he’d had any doubt, it was obliterated by the gold that wrapped around both of them, _thrumming_ in contentment.

It wasn’t until the gryphon gave a worried squawk that Greg realized he was crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed their week. My folks flew back to Chicago on Monday...oh, wait, my mistake - they were _supposed_ to fly home on Monday. Unfortunately, yours truly recommended they take DART (Dallas Mass Transit) to DFW Airport - the Orange Line does go there and my usual station is only 2 stops away from Orange Line's start.
> 
> Unfortunately, while the train (and an airport bus) got them to the airport before their flight, Spirit Airlines has a strict 45 min check in policy - as in, if you are not there _at least_ 45 minutes (according to them) before the flight, they _will_ sell your tickets to someone else, charge _you_ $100 to 're-book' on a flight that takes off at 4 AM, and nickel and dime you all the way home - no little cup of water...we only sell bottled water for $2 and coffee for $3.
> 
> I feel very bad about the DART advice - they would've been _much_ better off with a taxi, but thankfully, my parents did make it safely home and had more complaints about Spirit and the TSA than my mistake.


	11. The Riddle of the Gryphon

He was going to _murder_ his brother and Onasi, too, just as soon as he got past them and got Greg out of that interview room.  His Sergeant was crying and not _just_ crying, but sobbing and Ed did _not_ intend to let the two dead-men-walking in his way _stay_ there.  Ed punched Roy, sending him sprawling into Giles, then yanked both of them away from the door and sent them spinning into the other door with a snarl.  He pulled the door to the interview room open and started to reach for his Sergeant when an alarmed **skreee!** came from the vicinity of Greg’s chest.

“Ed, stop,” Roy called from outside, fighting to get disentangled from Giles, his words and voice desperate and panicked.

Ed ignored his brother’s order; his eyes narrowed as he spotted the animal clinging to his friend and he reached for it instead of Greg.  Greg reacted at once, curling protectively around the frightened creature and casting Ed a positively venomous glare.  The venom was a bit dilated by the tears still falling, but the message was unmistakable: Touch him and die.  Ed unconsciously took a step back at that look, caught off guard by the sudden _life_ in Greg’s eyes, despite the tears and the shock on his face.

With Lane cowed, Greg’s attention returned to the small creature huddled against his chest.  “Easy there,” Greg murmured, his free hand running over the animal’s fur.  “It’s just Eddie; he’s been a bit overprotective lately.  That’s it, you’re okay; no one’s going to hurt you.”

The constable got out of the way as Greg pushed himself upright and stalked out of the interview room, shaking with a rage Ed didn’t understand.  “Boss?” he asked, unsure how to deal with the rising anger.

Greg didn’t even turn.  “Who did this?” he demanded, every word drenched in fury and a desire for revenge – Ed blanched at that; Greg Parker didn’t _do_ revenge…at least, that was what he’d always thought.  Greg’s eyes landed on the interview room door that Ed had shoved his brother and Giles into.  “Are they in there?”

It took a brave – or suicidal – man to get in Sergeant Greg Parker’s way when he was in an absolute towering rage, but Auror Giles Onasi did it anyway.  “It’s not worth it,” he grated out, planting himself with a stubborn look of his own.  “Believe me, it’s not; focus on him, we’ll handle _her_.”

“But…” Greg started.

Giles cut him off, though his voice turned gentle and understanding at the half-wild look in Parker’s eyes.  “It’s not permanent, Sergeant.  If it’s the stuff I found in her bag, it’ll take a couple of days to wear off, but the de-aging’s not permanent.”  His gaze flicked down to the animal Greg was cradling protectively and he sighed.  “I can force him to change back, but I wouldn’t recommend it…that spell’s meant for Animagi who are stuck or who refuse to change back when ordered to by law enforcement.  It-it’s not gentle…it would hurt him and that’s the _last_ thing we want right now.”

Animagi?  Greg was holding an Animagus?  Ed froze, realizing there was really only _one_ Animagus who would get _this_ kind of reaction from his boss.  After a few seconds of stunned shock, the sniper forced himself to move so he could get a good look at the animal.  He moved slower than he had before, suspecting his speed was what had frightened the little creature.

Sure enough, as soon as the animal got a good look at him, he squeaked in clear delight and squirmed out of Greg’s grasp.  The next thing Ed knew, he was being circled by a small enthusiastic ball of fur and feathers.  Illishar landed on his shoulder, **squrr** -ing as he rubbed his beak against Lane’s neck, affection laced throughout the sound.  Awkward and painfully careful, Ed pulled the gryphon cub off his shoulder, almost automatically avoiding putting any pressure at all on the hatchling’s wings.  Illishar squawked at the change of position, then curled up a bit, his eagle talons closing gently around Ed’s hand without applying pressure and his paws flexing tiny lion claws out for an instant before they retracted.  The little gryphon’s head leaned against Ed’s chest, right above his heart; small wings fluffed, then settled.

“How?” he managed, staring from Illishar, to his boss, and then to his brother and Onasi.

“Ummm.”  Roy was eloquent as always.

Giles rolled his eyes and smacked his partner’s shoulder.  “Here is not the best,” he opined.  “SRU Headquarters would be better…it’s a bit of a long story.”

Ed did not miss how his boss’s eyes turned a touch desperate when the cub looked to be content with his spot in Ed’s grip; the team leader offered the gryphon back to his friend without a lick of hesitation.  Greg scooped Illishar up, his expression relaxing as the gryphlet purred and snuggled in, right above Greg’s heart.  The feathered tail flicked a little as the cub curled tighter and went to sleep.

* * * * *

Of course, getting the baby gryphon out of the airport _without_ said gryphon being spotted was a bit of a trick, especially with the hatchling napping and **squrr** -ing ever so often in his sleep.  Ed finally opted for the trick they’d tried with the Peter Wilkins escort job and moved the SRU truck to a loading area close to the interview rooms.  Roy ended up coming along with Greg and his small passenger as well; Ed winced, realizing he’d have to apologize for the black eye his brother was going to have in the morning.

“Roy, I…”

“It’s okay,” Roy replied before Ed could finish.  “I knew I was gonna get a reaction from you…coulda been worse, huh?”

That didn’t make it better, but Ed was content to let it rest if Roy was.  “So…” he drawled, “Anything you can tell us now?”

Roy considered, his gaze thoughtful.  “I think whoever did the forensics on the Impala needs to have their degree revoked,” he finally observed bluntly, “ ‘Cause that entire report was garbage…right down to that bogus ‘cremation’ theory.”

Greg twisted in his seat to meet Roy’s gaze, his eyes still haunted, but slowly getting better the longer the little gryphon napped against his chest.  “That’s what made you start looking?” he questioned.

Roy shrugged.  “That was the start,” he admitted, “But I’d rather only tell it once.”

“Fair enough,” Greg breathed.

* * * * *

SRU Headquarters was another hurdle…they were liable to frighten the poor gryphlet half to death if they dragged him into the center of Team One, but doing the introductions one-by-one would leave most of his teammates feeling slighted.  Ed nibbled his lip, debated between a few different ideas, and finally decided on a course of action; as he climbed out of the truck, he cast his boss a ‘don’t interfere’ look before he told Roy to give him five minutes, then bring Greg and his guest in.  Roy tossed his big brother a mock salute and Ed shook his head as he headed into the station.

Ed was unsurprised to find the whole of his team in the workout room, catching up on the workouts they’d skipped to help their Sergeant through his own personal tragedy; Ed was forced to bite back a wide grin at how the tragedy had been resolved…it hadn’t sunk in yet, but it would and when it did…oh, boy, there was going to be one _heck_ of a party.

“Briefing room,” he barked, keeping his face straight with an effort.  “Let’s go.”

Team One was used to dropping their workouts at a moment’s notice and they quickly streamed into the briefing room.  Curious looks were cast in his direction, all of them wondering if this was another team meeting on how to help their sergeant.  There certainly _had_ been quite a few of those lately, Ed knew.

Ed waited until all movement stopped, pacing back and forth at the head of the table.  “Ground rules,” he began, not looking at his teammates.  “No yelling, no cheers, and Mr. Scarlatti,” he pinned Spike with a mock-glare, “No whoops from you, understand?”

“Ed?” Wordy questioned, a perplexed look on his face.

Ed shook his head slowly, not looking at any of them in particular.  “You scare the little guy and it won’t be _me_ after you, it’ll be Sarge…and he’s _ticked_ right now.”

“Ticked about what?” Sam asked before anyone else could.

“And what little guy?” Jules followed up.

“Ed, you ready?” Roy asked, poking his head in.

Ed turned, one brow going up.  “What happened to five minutes?”  He glanced at his watch, confirming that, yes, it had only been three.

Roy fidgeted, then sighed.  “The kid woke up…and you were gone…”

 _Oh…that’s just_ great _…what’s next, a team sleepover?_   Ed didn’t get a chance to respond beyond a tired facepalm as anxious cheeping came from behind Roy, overlaid with his boss’s frantic attempts to calm the little gryphlet down.  “Okay, get them in here,” he sighed.  “At least I got the ground rules done.”

Confusion rose exponentially in the briefing room as their boss carried a small brunet gryphon into the room and more than a few worried looks were exchanged…had their Sergeant gone off the deep end?

When the cub saw Ed, he **squerr** -ed in delight and took flight, flying straight to Ed and landing on his shoulder, just like he had at the airport.  Then the hatchling spotted the rest of Team One, every last one of them gawping at him, and he ducked behind Ed as best he could, tucking his wings to make himself even smaller.

After a second or two, the little gryphon poked his head back out and zeroed in on Wordy.  The cub took flight again, accidently flicking his tail into Ed’s eyes, but the team leader didn’t mind at all; he smirked at the look on Wordy’s face as the gryphlet plowed into him, squeaking excitedly.  The brunet constable didn’t get to keep the gryphon long; he flitted to Spike almost before Wordy could register the cub’s weight, then bounced over to Sam, still squeaking delightedly.  Jules and Lou had a bit more warning then the rest of their teammates had had, but not much as tiny wings swept the hatchling over to them; he curled briefly around Jules’ shoulders before literally leaping from her to Lou.  Lou caught the cub, to the gryphlet’s clear pleasure, but after a second, the cub squirmed free and flew back to Greg, landing on the Sergeant’s chest and doing his best to curl up right there.  Greg chuckled as he brought his left arm up to support the gryphon cub; his tail curled around Greg’s elbow and he settled onto the arm, **churr** -ing to himself as wide blue eagle eyes regarded the stunned team.

“What the?” Wordy started, then stopped, not sure how to continue.  Where had the little gryphon come from and why was Sarge suddenly so much more _alive_?

* * * * *

When he woke up, Uncle was still there, but the tall, bald man whose name he couldn’t remember wasn’t.  Worry prompted his anxious squeaking; had mean Mummy woman taken tall, bald man away?  But then Uncle followed Roy to a room he _knew_ , even if he didn’t remember, though he had a flash of being much bigger with baby sister, watching a man trapped by waking nightmares.  And, oh, oh!  His magic purred, recognizing all of those inside and telling him that he was _home_.  He was confused, this didn’t _look_ like home, even if it felt like home.  And where was baby sister?

He couldn’t help it; when he saw the tall, bald man, he took flight and flew to him, his excitement spilling out.  All the staring made him hide, but then his magic _sang_ to him, telling him that he _knew_ them and they knew him and why was he being so silly?  So he flew to them as well, greeting them all, before going back to Uncle, who wasn’t mad at him, like mean Mummy woman had been.

His magic laughed at him and nudged at him, telling him it was safe to go back to being human and that his humans would recognize him _much_ easier if he was human again.  He pouted a moment; he wanted to _fly_ some more, but he wanted home and baby sister more than he wanted to fly, so he concentrated, just like he’d done the one time Daddy had found him like this, and felt his magic dance.

* * * * *

Greg took in his teammates’ worried looks and restrained a sigh; _he’d_ recognized Lance as soon as the little gryphon leapt at him, but apparently it wasn’t quite as quick a recognition for the rest of his team.  Then the gryphlet _blurred_ and Greg only just managed to shift his grip before the four-year-old boy slid to the floor.  A brown head craned back and Greg couldn’t help his grin as Lance’s sapphire blue eyes met his, before the four-year-old turned his attention to the now stunned, silent, and frozen Team One.

As brightly as only a four-year-old can manage, Lance chirped, “Hi, I’m Lance and I’m four!”

“Sarge?”  Wordy sounded half-strangled, but he was doing better than everyone else except Ed; they were still stuck on bugged eyes and dropped jaws.

Greg drew breath, but Giles, sailing in and unconcerned over the four-year-old’s reversion to his human form, announced, “It’s definitely him, Sergeant Parker; Simmons was able to get our ‘charming’ lady witness to cooperate…she pulled him from the car before it went up.”

With narrowed eyes, Ed demanded, “So why didn’t she bring him to the hospital?”

Giles’ sigh was heavy and he brought out a picture, offering it to the team leader first.  “This is why.”  Greg moved so he could see the picture over Eddie’s arm, automatically shifting the four-year-old up so curious blue eyes could peek at the mystery photo, too.  A young man smiled up at them, so similar to his nephew that Greg was forced to look twice before he noticed the young man’s eyes were green instead of blue.

Ed whistled low and passed the picture to Lou, who stood closest.  “And who’s that?”

“Daniel Smith,” was the brisk reply; Lance hissed from his uncle’s arms, earning a raised brow from said uncle.  Giles bit his lip, then explained, “He died three years ago; from what Simmons just told me, he and his girlfriend’s family got caught up in a case of mistaken address…a couple of techie drug dealers attacked the wrong house and murdered everyone there.”  With another sigh, Giles added, “Three months after that, his father Apparated in front of a car on his way home.”

“Suicide?” Sam inquired cautiously; though the whole of Team One was appalled at the tragedies Daniel’s family had endured, the hell their Sergeant, his niece, and _they_ had been forced through overrode all of the team’s usual sympathy.

A shrug.  “Possible, but we’ll never know; he’d had enough Firewhiskey to drop an Abraxan that night.”

 _In other words,_ Greg filled in silently, _drunk._   He was still too angry over the situation to feel like a hypocrite, though his teammates likely would have vehemently disagreed with any misplaced guilt on their boss’s part.  “So,” he remarked aloud, “What happened after the accident?”  And how had his nephew ended up as a _four-year-old_?

Giles considered, then spoke carefully.  “The witch who pulled him out is Helen Smith, Daniel’s mother; from what little Simmons has been able to get from her so far, she used a basic Muggle-Repelling Charm to keep anyone from seeing her pull Lance out of the car and Apparate away with him.”

“And she decided to just keep him?” Greg inquired, a deadly look in his eyes, his usual calm vanishing so fast that Lance looked a question up at him.

“She was calling him ‘Daniel’ at the airport,” Roy put in.  “When we got her in the interview room, she pulled her wand on Giles, screaming something about how we couldn’t ‘take her son away from her.’ ”

“She did what?” Ed growled…a wand on Giles meant his brother had been _next_.

Giles huffed a laugh.  “Lance caught her off guard with his Animagus form,” he remarked.  “Got free and made her drop her wand at the same time.”  He rocked back on his heels, eyeing Lance a moment.  “What else happened after the accident, Sergeant Parker, is the ten-thousand Galleon question,” he mused, a tiny smile crossing his face.  “And I think we can answer it with just one other question.”

Greg arched a brow in clear invitation for Giles to elaborate.

The Auror leaned in, his focus on the four-year-old.  “Lance?”  The boy perked up, his eyes meeting Giles’ and his head cocking to the side.  “Can you tell us why the world is wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My profuse apologies for the late posting today. I had everything set up to post this morning...and then ran out the door 'cause I forgot all about it. So, sorry and I'll try to keep more on top of things.


	12. Magic Whispers

Lance pondered the question seriously, his face twisting up as he concentrated and let his magic out.  With gold filling the air around him and Uncle, he looked up at Giles, his eyes glittering.  “She tried to take me away,” he explained, then frowned.  That didn’t sound right…didn’t make enough sense for the grown-ups.  He patted his chest and added, “She wanted to take my name away, take baby sister and Mom and Dad away.”  His magic pulsed, whispering something else.  “Magic says to say she took unicorn and redwood away,” he obediently repeated.

Giles hissed like he would hiss in his flying form, rearing back.  “She snapped your wand?” he blurted, eyes wide and an emotion Lance didn’t recognize in them.  He looked like Daddy had when the newspapers started saying bad things about Harry Potter.

His magic murmured and he nodded.  “Magic says yes,” he told Giles, then he cocked his head to the side, listening harder.  “Magic wouldn’t let her take my name, so she tried to make it go away.”  He remembered that part and his face scrunched up.  “And I itched and itched until red came out, but the itch didn’t stop.”

The other adults, the ones his magic knew, but he didn’t, they looked even madder than Mommy had the time he’d snuck baby sister away from Mindy without telling anyone.  And Uncle hugged him tight, but it felt nice, not like when mean Mummy woman had hugged him.  “I got you,” Uncle whispered, just loud enough for Lance to hear.  “I got you.”

Lance nodded against Uncle’s chest, meeting Giles’ eyes again.  “Cold woman told mean Mummy woman to stop using icky stuff.”  His head tilted to the side, “She knew I wasn’t Daniel, but she pretended I was so mean Mummy woman would listen to her about the icky stuff.”

“Cold woman?” Roy questioned.

The boy shrugged, as best he could in Uncle’s grip.  “Mean Mummy woman called cold woman ‘Maria’.  Cold woman called me Mudblood…what’s that mean?”

There were several angry sounds from the adults and Giles looked like he was shaking, his face twisting up as he shook.  After a few deep breaths, he replied, “That’s a really bad word for people born to non-magical parents, Lance.”

“Why would they think he was tech-born?” a blond man questioned, a confused look on his face.

But Uncle wasn’t confused, though he sounded both sad and angry.  “Because he was driving a car, Sam.  Most purebloods and half-bloods wouldn’t bother, am I right?”

Giles inclined his head and there was a slight flush on his cheeks.  Lance studied the effect curiously, wondering why the grown-up’s face was red.  “ _I_ don’t know how to drive,” he admitted, drawing a snicker from Roy at the admission.

Lance looked between Giles and Roy, wondering what was so funny.  There wasn’t much left to tell, but he finished the tale nonetheless.  “Mean Mummy woman wanted to fly ‘cause then she could trick the Muggle Aurors into letting her take me away.  Then a voice came from the ceiling and we went to the room with lots of people.  Then I saw Roy and yelled and everything was right again.”

Roy bit his lip, then blurted, “How’d you know my name?”

That was a silly question and Lance giggled, just a bit.  “Magic told me,” he chirped.  “Magic said to yell real loud and not stop or mean Mummy woman would take me away forever and ever.”  He shuddered at the thought and he was happy that Uncle’s hug got tighter.

“I think that’s enough,” Uncle said, trying to be firm, but his voice trembled too much for that.  “We just have to wait for the De-Aging Potion to wear off, right?  Then we can get our answers…we’ve got time.”

“Yes and no,” Giles admitted, his face glum, like Daddy the time that he’d come in and told Mindy to clean him and baby sister up.

“She’s pureblood, isn’t she?”  Lance’s head turned towards the speaker, an upset tall man with really, really short brown hair and big shoulders.

Giles nodded once.  “We’ve got her on kidnapping and attempted murder charges.”  Angry and alarmed noises came from all the grown-ups.  “But her family is already agitating for her release, claiming that she _fully_ intended on returning Lance to his family and that _I_ must have provoked her in some way…her family has enough power that it just might stick…”

“But I was there!” Roy protested.

“And you’re a Muggle,” Giles explained flatly.  “They’re _also_ claiming that the wounds on her must have been _my_ fault…we can counter that _if_ we can conclusively, _legally_ prove that Lance is who we _say_ he is, but that means proving it here and now, _before_ the De-Aging Potion wears off.”

Roy looked bewildered.  “No offense, but why does who Lance is make a difference?”

Lance felt his magic pushing at him and he cocked his head, listening carefully to the big words and things he didn’t fully understand, but the grown-ups would.  “Because,” he enunciated carefully, “I’m a pureblood, too.”  The grown-ups looked at him, surprised that he was explaining things, instead of Uncle.  “And I’m registered, but magic doesn’t say why registered is important.”  He pouted at that, but continued, “Magic says to say that she can be charged with line theft, for what she did to me.  What’s line theft?”

The grown-ups traded looks at that.  “What about the broken wand?” the pretty short lady asked suddenly.  “She broke a minor’s wand, isn’t that something else she can be charged with?”

A soft sigh.  “We only have Lance’s word right now on the broken wand – and _yes_ , _I_ believe him about that – but until he’s back to being sixteen it’s ‘she said, a four-year-old said.’  What I _need_ is evidence that she tried to magically manipulate the Heir to an Ancient and Noble House.  That would be the line theft Lance is alleging.  And I still need evidence that Lance is who we say he is, especially since we have a death certificate for him.”

“So what can we help with?” a blond man standing _very_ close to the pretty lady questioned.

The big brown-haired man waved a hand.  “Is there anything we could use to _quickly_ prove his identity?”

“His magic,” Uncle replied without missing a beat.  “That’s how _I_ knew it was him…his magic is gold and Alanna’s is violet.  And it’s family magic…as far as I know, it’s impossible to replicate.”

“Family magic…familial Animagus form,” Giles muttered to himself, nodding slowly.  “That just might work, Parker.”

“And if you find his wand,” the pretty lady put in, “It’s unique to him, right?”

Another nod, this one more confident.  “Close enough that we can prove the death certificate is in error.  That just leaves the magical manipulation…”

Two men, one with very tan skin and one with spiky hair started whispering to each other as the moment hung.  Lance studied them, his magic swirling, but silent.  The boy bit his lip, considering Giles’ words…at least, as much as a four-year-old could at any rate.  Then spiky hair came over, his eyes worried and he looked unsure, like Lance had felt when he’d gone exploring in the shed behind his home.  He looked to Uncle for permission and got it; crouching down to be on Lance’s level, he asked, “Lance, could you tell us _how_ she tried to take your name away?”

Giles jerked and stared and Uncle’s grip got tight again.  And his magic pushed at him, asking to speak through him.  He let it, feeling his eyes burn a little as the magic filled him.  “ _Recensiete Memorite_ **(5)**,” he whispered.  “That’s what she used, Auror Onasi.”  His head came up, the gold still burning brightly.  “She wanted me to _be_ Daniel, but I’m not.”  Briefly, he cocked his head to the side, expression turning thoughtful.  “She worships Daniel and blames her husband, the Aurors, and anyone she can think of for his death.  And she hates the Lion…she blames Him most of all; He called Daniel home just like He called Mom and Dad home.”  The gold faded from his eyes, the magic curling inward and satisfied with the information it had imparted.  “Magic done talking now,” he reported.  “Can I see baby sister now?”

* * * * *

Greg came very close to swearing as his nephew’s eyes burned a bright, fierce golden hue.  And the voice that came from him…it was an adult’s, not a child’s and not a teenager’s either.  A chill ran up Greg’s spine, because he’d heard a trace of the voice before, behind this same four-year-old’s solemn words…twelve years ago in his one and only meeting with Arthur Calvin and his young family.

_“Not right for you.  Care too much.  Help people who talk back.”_

He swallowed hard.  Looking back, Lance had been absolutely correct…he _did_ do better with people who talked back, _because_ he cared so much.  Unnerved, but determined, Greg remarked quietly, “Giles, everything he just said, I’ll back up one-hundred percent if I need to.”

“You don’t,” Giles almost whispered, looking just as stunned as Greg felt.  He’d gone paler and paler the longer Lance talked.  “The spell she used…it’s one of the most powerful memory alteration charms ever created.  Powerful because it’s so simple…simple and elegant, I think I heard an Obliviator say once.”  The Auror rose to his feet, anger entering his eyes.  “Only Obliviators and Aurors are permitted to use it…and even _we_ have to fill out a stack of parchmentwork three meters tall if we _do_ use it.  Using it on a minor…”  Rage was filtering in.

“Prison sentence?” Lou inquired.

A growl came from Giles.  “Prison is being generous…and using an illegal memory alteration charm on a kidnap victim who just _happens_ to be the Heir to an Ancient and Noble House means she’s on the hook for attempted line theft.  Maybe more once we add in the De-Aging Potion she used and the Suppression Potion.”

“Which reminds me,” Roy mused, turning to Parker.  “Do you know if Lance is a Wild Mage?”

“I’ve heard _both_ of them referred to as Wild Mages,” Spike offered up, getting a startled look from Giles and Roy.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard yea or nay,” Greg admitted, though his eyes narrowed.  “Why?”

“If we search her house,” Roy remarked suddenly, hastily changing the subject without answering Greg’s question, “We might find the pieces of Lance’s wand, too.”

“That’s gravy,” Giles rumbled, stalking towards the door.  He halted, turning back sheepishly.  “Sorry, Parker, but at this point, active investigation…”

“Go,” Greg replied, understanding.  “Tell us when you can, Giles.”  He frowned, another factor occurring to him.  “What about the driver?”

For a moment, Giles’ face went blank, then he facepalmed.  “Right…the driver…I’ll take care of it.  And the death certificate, too.”

Roy cleared his throat, joining his partner and whacking his shoulder.  “I think you meant, _we’ll_ take care of it, right, partner?”

Greg was unsurprised when both men managed to disappear without any further ado.  He looked down at wide, hopeful blue eyes.  “Baby sister?” Lance asked, managing to pack enough pleading in those two words to overwhelm even the hardest of hearts.

The Sergeant bit back a chuckle.  “Okay, sport,” he agreed, “Let’s get you home.”

“Sarge…”  Greg looked over at Wordy, who was torn between chagrin and laughter.  “Is your apartment kid-proofed?”

_Kid-proofed?_   Greg’s expression did all the talking for him as he gave his constable a quizzical look.

Wordy bit his lip, holding in his laughter, though it danced in his eyes and slipped out in a snicker or two.  “Four-year-old kid, who can turn into a flying gryphon cub…you think your place is going to survive for however long that De-Aging Potion lasts?”

Greg froze, looking down at his nephew, who blinked innocently at him, then back up at his team.  “Oh, boy.”

* * * * *

Alanna wiped her tears away, wishing, yet again, that her brother hadn’t left her all alone.  She knew he hadn’t _meant_ to leave her, but he still had and it wasn’t _fair_.  She was trying to be brave and strong, for Uncle Greg who looked more and more forlorn with every passing day, but it was so _hard_.  Biting back another sniffle, she made her way to where Aunt Shelley was waiting to pick her up, with the three Wordsworth girls in tow.

As always, Claire and Lilly bombarded her with questions about magic and how it worked, asking questions faster than she could answer them.  Ally bubbled out a few questions of her own, but she wasn’t quite old enough to get in before her two older sisters.  Before, it had made her laugh, but now…now it was just another thing to endure.  She pasted a smile on her face and answered the last question first, even as, inside, her heart broke all over again, remembering how Lance would sometimes join the three little girls, his laughter ringing in his voice as he teased her.  _How could you leave me, big brother…why did you leave me all alone?_

“Okay, girls, that’s enough,” Aunt Shelley broke in.  “Give Alanna some room to breathe.”

Alanna’s smile turned genuine at Aunt Shelley’s intervention.  “Thanks,” she whispered.

“Anytime, sweetie,” Aunt Shelley murmured back.  “Kevin called, said he and Greg had a surprise for you when you get back to our place.”

A surprise…she’d never wanted a surprise less in her _life_.  But Uncle Wordy and Uncle Greg working together was a good thing…she knew things had been a little strained ever since Uncle Wordy’s Wizengamot trial.

* * * * *

Aunt Shelley led the way into the house, peering around in confusion when neither Uncle Greg nor Uncle Wordy appeared with the promised surprise.  Alanna followed close behind, her eyes dull and unhappy…the only surprise _she_ wanted was for time to work backwards, so she could save her brother.

“Kevin?” Aunt Shelley called, a lilt in her voice that suggested Uncle Wordy was on the cusp of being in trouble.

“In here, Shel,” Uncle Wordy called back from the living room.

Aunt Shelley stepped to the doorway, then gasped and dropped her purse, her hands coming up to her mouth.  Curious, Alanna peered around her.  Uncle Greg, Uncle Wordy, and a little boy were in the center of the room; the little boy’s sapphire eyes fixed on her, going wide.

Then his face turned completely, utterly delighted.  “Baby sister!” he declared, magic spilling out, blazing gold in the room.

Alanna’s jaw dropped, her own magic slipping out without thought, meeting and mixing with his.  She wasn’t aware of moving, but she must have, because the next thing she knew, she was in the living room, curled around her brother and crying.  She felt Uncle Greg’s arms come around both of them and she leaned into him, letting her sobs and magic out in equal measure.

“Baby sister not cry,” Lance whispered…and how had he been turned into a four-year-old?  “Don’t be sad.  Aslan bring me home.”

Her laugh, right in the middle of her crying, was watery, but real.  “Yes,” she whispered back, running a hand through his soft brown hair, “He brought you home.”  Her magic danced around his and she added, “I’m crying because I’m happy, big brother.”

Lance’s face twisted in thought, then turned unhappy.  “Not big anymore,” he observed.  “Baby sister big now.”

She laughed again, felt Uncle Greg laugh too.  “Don’t worry, big brother,” she replied, “You’ll _always_ be my big brother.”

“Promise?”

“Until the stars go dim,” Alanna promised, twining her fingers with his.

 

[5] Latin for ‘change memory’


	13. Epilogue

“Why you want me to double-check this blasted report,” Roy muttered angrily to himself as he worked his way through the database and requested the forensics report again.

Helen Smith’s family had folded so fast that Roy had been left snickering; once they found out she’d kidnapped an Heir to an Ancient and Noble Family, they’d literally, _literally_ , blanched.  Giles, concealing a smirk and a snicker of his own, had gleefully added that her injuries had been inflicted by said Heir in defense of the two Aurors who’d been trying to rescue him and upon whom Helen had drawn her wand – and then tried to murder, thus proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’d had _no_ intention of giving her captive back.

They’d also found the pieces of Lance’s broken wand and set the wheels in motion to get the death certificate revoked and the manslaughter charges dropped down to attempted manslaughter charges.  Roy had been ready to call it a good day, but Giles had demanded they go on _this_ wild goose chase first.  At close to eleven at night, Roy was tired, unhappy, and not afraid to show it.

Over his shoulder, Giles was unperturbed.  “Call it a hunch,” he decided.

“A hunch?” Roy questioned, glancing back and up at his partner.

“All of this could have been avoided if forensics hadn’t concluded Lance was dead, even though there was no body in the Impala,” Giles rumbled.  “We would have _known_ he was still alive, still out there, and we might have found him before that lousy excuse for a witch tried to smuggle him back to England as her dead son.”

Roy felt a chill go down his back.  “Parker and Team One wouldn’t have gone through hell this past week,” he whispered, turning back to the search.

“Exactly,” Giles snapped.  “If it had come down to it, the Auror Division would have used the Lost Soul Potion and settled the matter once and for all.  Instead, we ended up finding him with sheer dumb luck after everyone else said he was dead.”

The Guns ‘n’ Gangs officer swallowed hard, then frowned at the screen that came up.  “This is weird…” he muttered.

“You got it?” Giles asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“No,” Roy replied, pointing to the screen.  “It’s asking for a password…but I already gave the system my password.”

“Is there a hint?” Giles inquired, digging in his memory for how techie computers worked.

For a moment, Roy was silent, working at the keyboard.  In a surprised tone, he remarked, “Yeah, there’s a hint…”

He pointed to the screen again and Giles leaned in.  “ ‘Cry havoc.’  That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Roy confirmed glumly.

“What kind of a hint is that?” Giles complained.  “Can’t you just override it or something?”

Roy tossed him a glare.  “ _I’m_ not a computer tech, Giles.  I know how to work the computer, read email, type out reports, and that’s about it.”  His glare transferred to the computer screen.  “Okay, ‘cry havoc’…must refer to _something_.”

Giles groaned, moving away and poking cautiously at a stack of paperback books on the edge of his partner’s desk.  “What’s this?” he asked idly.

Roy looked and let out his own groan.  “Birthday gift from my girlfriend,” he explained glumly.  “She’s into Shakespeare…wants me to take her to some performance next weekend.”

“You going?” Giles inquired, tilting his head to the side…he’d thought that Roy and his girlfriend were getting along quite well, but Roy’s tone said otherwise.

A reluctant nod.  “Yeah, I’m going, but things…they’ve been going downhill…”

“Why?”

“She’s Wiccan.”

The light dawned.  “One thing when magic’s not real…” Giles mused.

A rough laugh.  “Something like that,” Roy agreed, eyeing the books.  “Wait a sec…”  He pulled the stack closer, his eyes narrowing, then Giles was forced to catch a paperback as it flew at his chest.

The Auror yelped, catching the book before it could fall, then snatching another one out of midair.  “Roy!” Giles protested, nabbing a third book as it whizzed past his shoulder.

“Got it!” Roy crowed, flipping through the fourth book frantically.  “Where is it…where is it?  I know I saw it _somewhere_ in here…”  Abruptly, the cop spun back to the computer, one hand keeping the book open as the other did a ‘hunt and peck’ routine on the keyboard.

Giles rounded the desk, confusion blazing.  “What is it?”

Roy shifted his grip on the book to jab a finger at the page he had open.  “ ‘Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war;’  Shakespeare, from Julius Caesar.”  He scowled at the screen, which was showing a denial of what he’d just put in.

“Did you put in the whole thing?” Giles inquired.  At Roy’s nod, he suggested, “Try just the dogs of war part.”  He put the three books he’d caught down and took the open fourth book so Roy could type with both hands.

Aloud, Roy mumbled, “Okay, ‘let slip the dogs of war’; Enter.”

The screen changed, bringing up not the report both men had expected, but a short note, clearly written for them.

_Congratulations, Aurors,_ the note began, drawing two raised brows and wary looks.

_I could hardly begin with anything else…most of your colleagues were quite content with the report I submitted on behalf of your forensics department.  That you two, and you two_ alone _, were unsatisfied, confirms to my satisfaction that your thwarting of my plans for the full moon of last month was no fluke._

Twin growls rose, both men glaring hard at the message and realizing that the meddling had been _no_ accident…the week of pure _hell_ that Team One had just gone through had been _intentional_ , malicious, and cruel.

_You have my word, such as it is, that I shall not attempt to harm young Heir Calvin until such time as he regains his usual age…nor shall I make any attempts on his sister or his uncle’s team of intriguing officers.  Muggles, Squibs, and Squib-borns…such a delightful mix of magic and technology you have at your fingertips, my good Aurors._

Roy broke off to stand and pace, his expression twisting into helpless rage…the object of his fury far away and doubtlessly protected by magic he could never _hope_ to penetrate.  Giles looked just as angry…and helpless.  “That little,” Roy managed, anger strangling his words.

“I know,” Giles murmured. 

_It cannot, of course, last…_ you _, of all people, Auror Onasi, should remember the lessons of the past concerning the intermixing of magical and non-magical.  It may not be today or tomorrow, but eventually, your_ friends _will turn on you…jealous of your power and talents._

“We _won’t_ ,” Roy promised, swinging around to face Giles, his eyes glittering in the shadows around his desk and monitor.

Giles settled a hand onto his partner’s shoulder.  “I know, Roy.  You were willing to stand by me in the middle of that…that _nightmare_ he provoked.  I’d trust you to have my back in the middle of a dementor attack.”

_Regardless, do accept my congratulations once again and my wishes for young Heir Calvin’s speedy recovery.  Until next time, I bid you Adieu and good fortune…I would hate for such a promising group of adversaries to vanish from the field at_ this _point._

_Until we meet again, I remain,_

_Doctor Charles Henry Moffet_

“Moffet,” Roy whispered.

“At this point, he’s gone,” Giles sighed.  “He’ll have gone underground almost as soon as we found Lance and dragged Smith in.”

“We have to get this to my brother,” Roy announced.

“Why?” Giles inquired, cocking his head to the side.  “Won’t that just hurt them more?”

Roy printed the note and ripped the paper off the printer.  “Stop thinking like a wizard, Giles, and start thinking like a _cop_.  Team One is _trained_ for this kind of monster…no matter _what_ he’s done.  They’re the best people for this.”

“For what?”  Giles blinked, still confused by Roy’s actions.

The Guns ‘n’ Gangs officer didn’t reply immediately as he also saved the note to his computer and then logged out of the database.  Determined gray eyes met Giles’ brown ones.  “For bringing Moffet down…for figuring out what makes him tick so we can take him down for good.  Make sure he _can’t_ start his little tech-magic war _or_ mess with our people _ever_ again.”  Roy grabbed his jacket and pulled it on.  “This might sound a bit…Sherlockish, but it works.”

“What works?”

Roy smirked, adjusting his jacket and letting the moment hang.  In as much of a British drawl as he could manage, he announced, “The game is on.”

 

_~ Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indeed it is, Roy, indeed it is, though we'll have to wait for Moffet to slither out from under his _rock_ again. But for now, _we_ shall move onto "The Sergeant and the Gryphon Cub" on Friday, October 5th, 2018.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed and I would be most obliged if you drop me a line or two in a comment.
> 
> Happy Reading, everyone,  
> sunstarunicorn

**Author's Note:**

> I got partway through plotting this story out, then realized that I'd probably pulled a bit of an Americanism with this one. You see, in Illinois, the state I'm from, teen drivers can get a driver's license at 16, provided you take an appropriate course (and naturally, get a learner's permit) and have enough documented driving hours by either your sixteenth birthday or whenever you get those requirements afterwards.
> 
> Thanks to a quirk of my birth date, my parents' permission, and my high school offering a summer driving course, I got my license on my sixteenth birthday. On the flip side, this is not a self-insert, because I've never had a serious accident or totaled a car.
> 
> For those of you praying for my family, we did finally get some more information over the weekend. Sadly, it appears my cousin passed away from a heart attack. My aunt and uncle have essentially turtled in and are grieving very hard for their daughter. They don't even want any contact, which I respect, but that won't stop me from praying for them - or asking all of you to keep praying for them as they struggle with their loss.


End file.
